


Dragons Do Not Bow

by Yngvildr the Voracious (Yngvildr_the_Voracious)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aurors and Dark Wizards, Fluff, Hogwarts AU, LGBTQ changing their world, MACUSA, Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them Spoilers, Multi, Past Relationships, Trans Characters, bi!hanzo, references to a LGBTphobic society, trans!genji shimada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yngvildr_the_Voracious/pseuds/Yngvildr%20the%20Voracious
Summary: [HIATUS]Now: Jesse McCree, tired of the red tape and the corruption of the British Ministry, goes back to his homeland of the United States of America only to find both his parents murdered. Finding a destroyed wand on the scene, he calls upon his ex, Hanzo Shimada to find the killer. After all, justice ain't gonna dispense itself. Then: Hanzo had always known he liked both. But Jesse McCree put them all to shame. They clicked. He didn't know what to do when it clicked. When it clicks, duty and family goes through the window. But who is going to go back to Japan to rule the Shimada empire of crime and Dark Magic? If he can help it, not his little brother...





	1. Then: Good Luck Kiss part. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed self indulging mess of gay stuff.

This was becoming ridiculous. In fact, it had started to become ridiculous already when, despite being expressly forbidden to do so by the Team Captain, the Slytherin prefects and the Head of House who caught him with a bunch of Zonko goods of the explosive kind, Jamison Fawkes set enchanted Fireworks to trail Lena Oxton and she ended up in the Hospital Wing.

 

Then Hana Song and Mako Rutledge started a duel at breakfast over it which ended in a full Muggle brawl and, surprisingly, put the rotund Slytherin Beater next to Oxton. Who knew the Gryffindor star Seeker packed such a punch?

 

Hanzo sighed, but only managed to get another mouthful of his own eyebrows. He felt shame at being caught by such a stupid jinx. He felt angry that he couldn’t do anything about it, because this was Defense Against the Dark Arts, the seventh year N.E.W.T. class led by Professor Reyes, who tutted darkly.

 

“Your Shield Charm was weak, Shimada. A _P_ at best.”

 

Well, of course it was. Several Gryffindor students had been harassing him all day in the corridors, hoping to incapacitate the other team’s Captain and Keeper. This was the last class of the day, _stay calm, say the counterspell_. But Hanzo simply choked on his eyebrows. He vaguely heard the class laugh at his pathetic attempt and was somehow grateful they couldn’t see his face.

 

“ _Finite Incantatem._ ” Jesse McCree drawled.

 

Instantly the hair stopped growing and instead, seemed to retract back onto his brows like a Devil's Snare's vine. Hanzo coughed. He still had hairs on his tongue.

 

“Good job, McCree. Do that with something stronger than a schoolyard spell and you’ve got an _O_.” Professor Reyes said to the Gryffindor student, who tipped his wizard hat to the teacher.

 

Professor Reyes was very strict. Most people called him a right bastard or a git, except the Hufflepuff students for a reason no student outside of their house knew. But Reyes’ favourite student wasn’t a Hufflepuff. It was the Gryffindor Chaser, famous having shot the Quaffle through all three of Hanzo’s goal posts at once during the Gryffindor against Slytherin match of their fifth year. He already had several teams fighting over him, among them the Holyhead Harpies who wished him to train with their players and become the first man to train with the all female team for a whole year, at barely seventeen with no more experience than school league.

 

However, it seemed Reyes, who was a silent man, was completely enamoured with the boy, to the point that he had actually fought with Professor Morrison, McCree’s Head of House, a week ago to get him to add another glowing recommendation for him at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for Auror training. However, Morrison had been a Curse-Breaker in his youth, and seemed to have the young man signed up with his own people using his more than _as friendly as they can be_ relations with Gringotts and its Goblin managers.

 

Hanzo straightened his spine when he heard the soft sound of Professor Reyes’ black billowing robes caress the floor as he spun, watching every student in the room. Every voice suddenly silenced thus, he said in his grating voice:

 

“Class dismissed.”

 

Hanzo quickly went to his bag and, first things first, flicked his wrist with a silent detection spell. Nothing. Good. Fareeha Amari was a good student, polite and well behaved (her mother being on the Board of Governors might help her get out of trouble, though…), but she was in the Gryffindor Quidditch team too, their Chaser and Captain. Tomorrow was the last match of the year and he knew she wanted to keep the Cup as much as he wanted to reclaim it after the embarrassing _Genji_ fiasco last year.

 

Hanzo felt anger replace the shame as he grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to simply go back to his common room without being on the receiving end of a jinx and spend the rest of the day relaxing in the cool air of the castle’s dungeons. May had already become so stifling that he almost wished this year could be over. The idea of spending a whole day on his broom tomorrow for what promised to be the bloodiest Slytherin vs Gryffindor match to date was absolutely unbearable.

 

Inspecting the corridor, watching on the left and the right of the classroom’s door, his wand concealed in his sleeve, Hanzo prepared to leave. The last thing he needed was Genji trying to find him.

 

“Hey, Shimada! Wait a minute.” he heard behind him.

 

That drawl. The same one that had uttered the _Finite Incantatem._ All hackles raised, Hanzo reluctantly turned around, back into the classroom. Professor Reyes was nowhere to be seen and everybody had been in a hurry to leave the professor who only had love for Hufflepuffs or annoying American cowboy wannabes.

 

If only Hanzo had listened to his father and agreed to stay in Mahoukotoro… But then, McCree could have stayed in his own country and pursued an education at Ilvermorny rather than _see what the original’s like_ as he had told him in the train all those years ago (Seven. Seven years, oh damn, how they had changed!).

 

“What, McCree?” Hanzo said, trying to stay courteous. Lead by example. Not that Rutledge and Fawkes ever listened to anything else than _hit the Bludger now!_

 

“Was that your last class?” McCree asked.

 

It seemed to Hanzo that the other boy was trying to act nonchalant, but that it was just that, just an act. Was he trying to be friendly while his friends got into position to hex him into oblivion?

 

“Yes.” Hanzo answered curtly before turning back again and stalking down the corridor, not in the direction of the Great Hall, but that of the fourth floor secret passage that ended immediately behind the kitchens, near the Hufflepuff’s common room, which was situated quite near that of Slytherin. That way, Hanzo wouldn’t meet any Gryffindors, who had their own in the westernmost tower, or any Ravenclaws, who at this time of the year would be found either in the Library or their own common room in the eastern tower. As for Hufflepuffs, Professor Reinhardt insisted they all eat healthy meals and scolded them if they weren’t found in the Great Hall for lunch. He actually did a headcount and also forwarded a list of students from other houses to the teachers responsible for them about it.

 

Hanzo was grateful for that because it had served their Seeker Amélie De Sylvestre. She had an eating disorder the teachers managed to help her get under control. It would now serve his own selfish purposes of reaching his common room quickly and above all, unseen. If he managed to dodge the Gryffindor Chaser.

 

“Shimada, wait, not this way!” he heard McCree holler behind him.

 

This was a trap. His wand now drawn, Hanzo frowned as he slipped behind the tapestry commemorating the Battle of Hogwarts, the great Harry Potter and the dreaded Lord Voldemort looking as determined as he felt right now.

 

Rather than have his enemies follow and learn of one new shortcut, he would face them now. Even in his exhausted state, he could definitely fight.

 

Hanzo used his Detection Charm, silently again. There were three of them. Maybe a Scatter Arrow will do the trick?

 

He cast the spell, aiming his wand from behind the tapestry. Simple geometry! Then he heard several shouts and a loud bellow. _SONG! DON’T DO THAT!_ which didn’t prevent the _NERF THIS!_ or the _FIRE IN THE HOLE!_ that made Hanzo wonder for a brief second _what the fuck is actually happening?_

 

He didn’t have the time. His own attack had served its purpose and if it didn’t, then Hana Song and Jamison Fawkes’ own signature spells would attract undue attention. He was hearing it already, Professor Morrison’s yelling had started. Hanzo registered steps behind him as he came hurtling next to the still life painting of the fruits bowl that showed the kitchen’s entrance. Only then did he realise that the other set of feet belonged to Jesse McCree who sounded equally breathless.

 

“I was… Trying… To warn ya.” he managed to say. “Hana wanted to…”

 

“Save your breath, cowboy.” Hanzo spat, his breath carefully tamed into regularity. He turned his heels, looking for the right corridor, the one that would lead him to the Slytherin common room.

 

“Wait! Shimada! Wanna eat something?” McCree hollered.

 

“I am not going to lunch in the Great Hall with _you_ …” Hanzo retorted.

 

“I was thinking, this is the kitchens, like, right behind us… We could have someone fix us a sandwich...”

 

Hanzo wanted to dismiss McCree’s proposal. But he _was_ hungry. However, although he knew the painting hid the entrance, he knew nothing of how to actually enter the place.

 

“I do not know the password to enter the kitchens and I doubt we…”

 

McCree laughed and removed his hands from his pocket, startling Hanzo.

 

However, his hand was empty of wand or any kind of grenades (dungbombs or otherwise). He raised his arm and reached for the pear in the carefully painted bowl, making it wiggle. Soon, the whole painting shook and slid to the left, revealing the famed Hogwarts kitchens.

 

Gobsmacked, Hanzo stayed still, observing the house elves working, as if two students hadn’t opened the door.

 

“Shut your mouth, Shimada. You’ll catch doxies!” McCree says, seemingly good naturedly.

 

Regaining his composure, Hanzo straightened his spine and glared at him.

 

“Come on, we’ll ask Bastion if he can make us a nice sandwich. Don’t you want one.”

 

“I have no need for…”

 

His stomach grumbled. Hanzo did not blush, but he couldn’t hide this embarrassed half smile, the one he wasn’t even sure he could ever control. He definitely would have prefered a less ambiguous blush.

 

“Come on, follow me, partner!” McCree cheered, obnoxiously stretching his arm behind Hanzo’s shoulders and leading him down the small staircase into the busy kitchens.

 

They were bigger than he thought. Well, he thought they must have been big to feed so many mouths, most of them growing magical children’s and Professor Wilhelm’s. In fact, they were the exact size of the Great Hall, complete with the four tables of the four houses faced by the lone professoral table, this one not on any kind of dais unlike its twin upstairs.

 

“Hey! Bastion!”

 

A strange sound came from the back of the room and soon a sort of rectangular box wheeled in.

 

“Shimada Hanzo, meet Bastion. He’s one of the machines the Muggles made with magic. It was granted refuge at Hogwarts. He doesn’t cook a lot, but he cleans and makes the best eggs and steak sandwiches this side o’ the Pond!”

 

The machine looked flattered by McCree’s compliment and preened.

 

“I will pass.” Hanzo coldly said, shrugging off the Gryffindor Chaser’s arm and turning back.

 

“Come on, Shimada! You gotta be on your best tomorrow!”

 

“Anyone who would like to see me bedridden from food poisoning during the last Quidditch match of the year would say that.” Hanzo tersely answered.

 

“Hey, let’s say we share the thing!” McCree said, catching up with the Japanese boy. “That way, if it was rotten, we’ll be both sick…”

 

Hanzo was about to make a scathing response when his stomach grumbled again.

 

Suddenly, not only the machine was following on his trail, but several house elves too. Hanzo was grabbed by the hem of his robes and dragged back into the kitchens.

 

“Gany will make Misters students a sandwich. House elves never let students go hungry in Hogwarts, no!” One of them said, their yellow apron seemingly shinier than the others.

 

Hanzo, recognising defeat, let himself be seated by Gany while Bastion hooted and dooted its way into the preparation of a large sandwich in the American style. In a few minutes only, he had the monster sandwich deposited in front of the two young men.

 

“Hey, forgot something, Bastion?” McCree said after inspecting the sandwich with a keen eye.

 

Beeping, Bastion retrieved a toothpick from a passing elf and an olive from another and planted the fruit into the sandwich with the little wooden stick. Hanzo raised an eyebrow at McCree.

 

“Much obliged!” the Gryffindor exclaimed, tipping his wizard hat in salute (and making Hanzo check that his was perfectly straight on his own head). “The perfect sandwich! And of course, to prove I ain’t planning to poison you before the match, I’ll eat first!”

 

And he did. Hanzo watched as McCree seized the sub with both hands, his stocky fingers palming the thing everywhere. (If there was poison that could be administered through skin contact with the bread’s golden crust, he’d be screwed…) Then, McCree opened his mouth wide and bit into the sandwich. Bastion weeheed again in victory.

 

“Absolutely delicious, as always, Bastion! Thank you too, Gany!” the Gryffindor said to the house elf.

 

The house elf cooed and bowed before jumping on Bastion’s back. The machine tooted excitedly and rolled away, making Gany laugh as he hollered for the other house elves to keep up the good work.

 

“You nodssh eaddeen?” McCree barfed around a mouthful of the eggs and steak sub.

 

“What?” Hanzo asked, barely able to divert his gaze from the strange elf and its mechanical companion.

 

Hanzo had a battery of house elves at the Shimada’s British pied-à-terre, and there were even more of them in their ancestral home in Japan. All of them were paid and clothed with the finest silk aprons. Some of them, the youngest who didn’t know the era of slavery of their kind, were even allowed to wear clothes, though Shimada-sama insisted they buy them in the Muggle styles of wear and, preferably, Western in fashion.

 

But having one so carefree, dressed in such a bright colour was a novelty to Hanzo. They seemed happy and never once had he cause to complain about the food or the cleaning at Hogwarts. He made note of it while McCree playfully punched his shoulder.

 

“Eat, Shimada. See. I’m fine!”

 

McCree had eaten about two thirds of the sandwich and didn’t seem affected by any of the standard poisons and alterating substances allowed (or just available) at Hogwarts. Hanzo then decided to taste it. After all, they were in Hogwarts’ kitchens. The house elves would never allow a student to get even a mild case of food poisoning.

 

The bread’s crust crunched, it was heavy and he almost choked on it, but McCree was right. The eggs were perfectly cooked and there were bits of spicy minced meat mixed in it that he instantly loved and hated. Spicy food always made his nose run like a leaky faucet. The salad was fresh and cleaned his mouth from the heat, letting the tomato rinse the rest with its fruity flavour.

 

“So… Whaddaya think?” McCree asked, his eyes full of a strange glimmer of expectation and… Something that made Hanzo suppress an embarrassed smile.

 

“It’s… Well… Adequate.”

 

“Adequate?” McCree repeated.

 

“Yes.”

 

It looked like McCree was about to explode, but Hanzo chose to remove the toothpick from the sandwich before he embarrassingly impaled himself on it and took another bite. It was a good sandwich.

 

“You’re alright, and my favourite Slytherin to boot, but ain’t nobody just say my favourite sandwich is just _adequate_!”

 

The frown on his face, as if Hanzo had personally vexed him with his less than negative adjective, made him smile despite himself. For the first time in seven years, Hanzo thought that Jesse McCree was kind of cute…

 

_No, don’t let that kind of thoughts pass, this man is the enemy Seeker, he’s closing in on the goals and you have to be careful._

 

“So, was your plan to mellow me before tomorrow’s match?” Hanzo asked.

McCree looked pensive.

 

“Actually, the initial plan was to tell ya Hana had planned to attack you there.” McCree admitted. “Didn’t think I’d have to run from Junk… Err... I mean Fawkes. So since you seemed to know your way, I followed. Didn’t fancy being caught by Morrison, especially after he fought Reyes the other day… And after that, well, running makes me hungry. Seemed unfair not to offer since you were skipping lunch too...”

 

McCree, Hanzo thought, could be read like a book and what Hanzo read shocked him. He didn’t seem to know why he was here either and it made him equally uncomfortable.

 

Hanzo’s stomach seemed to grow lighter and lighter, as if it had grown fluttery wings and started zipping around like the Golden Snitch. He took another bite of the sandwich, trying to hide how he was watching his fellow student and, judging by the redness in McCree’s cheeks, failing to do so.

 

“It is a very good sandwich.” Hanzo amended his earlier statement.

 

He then took the toothpick again, looking at the olive.

 

“Do you want it?” he asked.

 

McCree nodded and silently took the slim wooden stick from his hand, their fingers brushing in an electrical moment. Hanzo watched him, really, chew it, how his strong jaw moved in the movements of mastication beneath his short beard. He acutely felt a bead of sweat in his own back, sliding down his spine. A chill. McCree’s throat bobbed with the swallow.

 

“You not eating the rest?” McCree asked, his chin nodding in the general direction of the rest of the sandwich.

 

Hanzo nodded the negative, still incapable to tear his gaze away from his.

 

“I’m… I don’t care what happens tomorrow.” McCree started, hesitant. “But… I want to wish you luck so…”

 

Hanzo’s breath stopped when McCree, who was considerably larger than him, although they were the same height, suddenly got very close to him, close enough to softly put his chapped lips on his own.

 

Hanzo sighed into McCree, not realising how he had wanted this, as stupid as it sounded. Seven years and they’d been nothing but rivals in the classroom and on the Quidditch pitch, never even paired together elsewhere than in the Defense Against the Dark Arts dueling practice. Never hanging out together anywhere… They barely knew each other aside from what tidbits they shared on their first train ride ever, the only they ever spent together, having found their own friends in their houses the year after.

 

And now this… What was this? Hanzo had no clue, but his tongue darted to meet the seam of McCree's lips which opened to welcome him.

 

Hanzo had had a girlfriend before and a boyfriend too. If he had to chose, maybe the girl had been more his cup of tea, but Jesse McCree put them all to shame. His tongue was smoky and soft and, despite the remains of egg and steak and olive, Hanzo liked it. He reveled in the rough feeling of McCree's lips caressing his, their noses bumping, making them blush and suppress little smirks. The Gryffindor student's tongue started to vie for dominance too and Hanzo's heart leaped. He enjoyed it. Suddenly reaching for the collar of the other boy's robes to get a better grip, he let McCree's own hands find his hips, not gripping, just there… Hanzo sighed when McCree softly pushed him away.

 

“Well, not too much luck, gotta keep some for the Gryffindor team.” McCree said, his voice husky and rough.

 

It seemed he had been equally affected by this kiss. Hanzo felt better for it. However, McCree was right.

 

“Right now, both of us need rest more than we need to… Eat sandwiches.” Hanzo agreed in a teasing tone that seemed to please McCree.

 

“Maybe, after Gryffindor wins the Cup, I can give you some more of that luck for your NEWTs.” he added with a cocky smile that made the other young man’s heart leap in his chest again.

 

“You will need more of it than me.” Hanzo added, this time, not suppressing his smile. It grew wider when McCree started laughing.

 

Taking a step back seemed terribly hard when he chuckled like that. He had heard him laugh so once or twice, in passing. He wished he could hear it more often.

 

Hanzo, his stomach full, feeling lightheaded from the kiss, decided to simply go to bed. Maybe look again at the strategies he intended for his young novice Chasers tomorrow.

 

Both boys, maintaining a healthy distance, walked together out of the kitchens. McCree waved his hat to a booping Bastion and a chirping Gany. Soon, they reached the corridor where they would inevitably separate. McCree was a long way from Gryffindor’s Tower.

 

“Well… I’ll see you on the pitch… Shimada.” the Gryffindor Seeker said, tipping his wizard hat like a cowboy.

 

“Sure, McCree.” Hanzo answered, bowing slightly, as he would with any friend. However, their glances were too deep and too heated.

 

Hanzo was certain McCree was remembering the kiss, would remember it until the time came to kick the ground and fly into the beautiful May skies, their very lives hanging on the red Quaffle and how it would be fought over. Then Song and De Sylvestre would dive for the snitch, the Gryffindor girl having the advantage because of her smaller height, being younger than her Slytherin counterpart, only a third year to Amélie’s sixth. Fawkes and Rutledge would be on heavy bludger duty while Hanzo would be hard pressed to keep his goals free of any last minute McCree special attention. This last minute scoring at a speed that defied reason and even reality.

 

Last time, Hanzo had kept the goals beautifully. Then Genji had started to pester him instead of taking care of the Bludgers the Slytherin were sending to his Seeker. However, it had allowed McCree to make the Quaffle hit home. To add insult to injury, Hana Song had caught the Snitch anyway and won the Cup. Amélie and Hanzo had a terrible row about her not listening to him and not following the plan to catch the Snitch as soon as possible. They knew Amari, Oxton and McCree were the best and the young Slytherin Chasers simply weren't on the same level yet.

 

This time he was prepared, Hanzo thought. He had an agreement with Amélie. His little brother would not bother him again, he had made sure of it. He closed the curtains around him, his wand and his diagrams ready for last minute studying.


	2. Now: Home Sweet Home Part. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Donald, my coworker for his scathing remarks, but I'll do it at work in a second actually.  
> Thanks, Don!

Jesse McCree had never felt so small in his life.

There might have been the time he first saw Hogwarts, but it did not quite qualify. He had felt small, but it was the beginning of a new adventure. Far from home, in a whole other country after his parents bled to give him a chance to attend to the original. Not that there was anything wrong with Ilvermorny, he had just asked the question when his mother had explained her old school and he had simply said he’d like to go there.

So he had flown in a plane, then rode in a train, then traveled again in the little boats on the big black lake in which, he had heard the students say, a giant squid had taken residence. Jesse had definitely felt small and he had been a scrawny eleven year old boy after all. But Hogwarts had been something to look forward to.

Not spending the few decades they had left with his parents wasn’t something he had been in a hurry to face. Especially his mother. Magical folks live longer than their Non-Magical counterparts, so he had expected to grow grey with her and maybe see her die of a bad case of Dragon pox or something. Maybe even die before her, given his line of work.

He had not at all thought to find Valentina Jimenez’s face start to grey out before her hair, lying with contusions and slashes marring her face on the neat tiles of the kitchen of her Santa Fe home.

His father wasn’t far from there, but there wasn’t a struggle. The person who did that was clearly a wizard. Daniel McCree hadn’t stood a chance. It seemed he was the one who opened the door. His eyes were still in a sort of annoyed frown. Was it a neighbour he knew?  
Probably not, after the divorce, Valentina had moved back to her hometown where a small magical community made of latinos, mostly Puerto Ricans and Dominicans, thrived behind the usual spells and shields. No, Daniel was annoyed that it wasn’t his son. He had probably made the trip all the way from Tucson. Even with the advances in technology, it wasn’t a fun ride for Muggles.

_No-Maj._

Jesse would have to get used to American slang all over again, it seemed. Fucking stuck up British.

Jesse drew a big sigh. This rattled him bad. In fifteen years as an Auror on the the old continent, he had gotten used to the Killing Curse. Plenty of people were using it, there, from genuine Dark wizards to people who, in a fit of anger or anything else, simply let it out.

It was after all an old spell, judging by its incantation, one from the early days of the History of Magic. It was now forbidden in every country adhering to the International Wizards Federation, though it was tolerated in self-defense cases in Russia and Japan, though the latter would sort of exile and expect you to kill yourself you for some reason.

Seemed like a very Japanese thing to do, Jesse thought with a snort.

He should leave. He hadn’t cast anything more complicated than a levitation spell on his way in, but he knew the MACUSA was always very touchy when it came to the murder of No-Majs.

However, Jesse couldn’t. When did he last visited his parents already? Probably not since their divorce and his own romantic setbacks and failures. So give or take fifteen years with the odd owl every now and then. It hurt to come back and see that.

Jesse McCree carefully checked every drawer of his mother’s apartment for any clue. What would anyone want in her home? She had a boring job as a liaison with the different Spanish speaking Magical authorities of the American continent, which basically meant she was a translator and interpreter for day to day affairs such as cauldron bottoms thickness, importations of plants and magical creatures and the such. Anyone wanting her harm for not accepting bribes would settle on a stupid non lethal curse, something humiliating, like Ear Shriveling jinxes and the like. Schoolyard spells.

They wouldn’t kill a No-Maj over it. Too dangerous.

His search was meticulous, but he almost missed it. It was near her cascading brown hair, broken to little pieces, so he nearly missed it. The remains of a wand.

It was completely destroyed, but having a wandmaker as an ex-boyfriend was useful for a lot of things, like recognising the warm cherry wood only held together by the still elastic dragon heartstring.

Musn’t have been a very loyal wand if the wood broke so badly on a Killing Curse. But again, Valentina might have been a boring woman with a boring job, but she had been a witch. Not exactly a warrior, but someone who could defend herself better than her non-magical ex-husband. Jesse could already imagine it. She had been the one to help him nail down the Shield Charm he had struggled with it as a boy. The Killing Curse wasn’t usually deterred by it, but if the wand was a replacement (Merlin forbid it, contraband bought special for the deed!), it could have gone through the Charm and killed but ruined the wand.

It looked new, aside from the damage, the pieces of wood shined and the hand holding it had barely left any fingerprints. The heartstring was still pulsing with residual magic.

Jesse had a lead. It was the wand. He just had to find the seller and…

Or…

Jesse was in the States right now. Here, he was an Auror, yes, but a British one who had taken a sabbatical after he got tired with his job’s paperwork and disheartening politics. Finding two corpses the day he got off the plane and Apparated off the JFK Airport’s Apparition point did not magically give him the right to go ahead and take the law into his own hands…

Jesse took a long look at the corpse of Daniel McCree.

He still had his old hat on. That old Stetson he would drop on his boy’s head. _So, where is it Sortin’ ya now, sonny?_

Slowly, Jesse McCree walked back to the door and retrieved the cowboy’s hat.

The felt was soft to the touch and so very cold, it gave Jesse the shivers. Slowly, with trembling hands, the wizard put it to his head.

It fit him now, his father’s hat. He felt some wetness sliding down his cheek and he briefly sniffled whatever was trying to get out back into him.

Pocketing the remains of the cherry wand, he stepped outside the little house and Disapparated.


	3. Then: Good Luck Kiss part. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don hasn't read this. I'm ashamed to post it now, but I just want to let it out.  
> As you can guess, Hanzo's POV is in the past and mostly fluff.  
> Jesse's POV is the present and mostly plot.

His stomach was sticky when he finished, nothing a cleaning spell couldn’t take care of, but he dared not go to the Great Hall to eat. If he smiled at McCree, Genji would know. Then all his Gryffindor friends would know, then he would have ammunition if there was a repeat of last year’s match. Unless it had been McCree’s plan all along. 

 

So Hanzo went to the kitchens again. He was there. They kissed. _Stealing more luck_ they called it. 

 

McCree did not shave and his beard looked better than whatever had been on Hanzo’s ex-boyfriend’s face. It was soft and he breathed his scent, relished in it. McCree did the same in the Slytherin's neck, saying something about smelling  _ darn delicious _ . 

 

Again, they separated. Again, a cleaning spell was cast in the privacy of his four poster bed. He wondered if McCree did the same. He wondered if they were going to play differently now that they knew each other’s mouths with as much precision. How _Jesse's_  left arm tensed when it was not resting at his side, how Hanzo’s own right arm twitched when something entered in contact with his inner thigh, like his broom… Or a knee. 

 

Hanzo tried to calm the jumble of thoughts. He barely slept, practicing his Occlumency shields all night, hoping that clearing his mind would bring him the serenity he needed to perform on the pitch. 

 

He dressed at five, got his Storm Bolt from his very special broom case, polished the handle and inspected it for any loose twigs. At six, he thought, maybe the house elves were awake, preparing the meal. He wondered if it would be appropriate for the captain to eat in the kitchens, hoping to see the opposing team’s Chaser there, maybe steal another kiss. For luck, of course. Couldn’t let the Gryffindors have too much of it. 

 

Smiling, Hanzo sighed and decided to got to the Great Hall instead. He was the captain. This was also the first time Satya Vaswani, a fourth year, would play Chaser with them on such an important match. The House Cup and the Quidditch Cup were at stake. She was bound to be nervous. She also had an altercation with McCree, thankfully, a benign Hair hex. However, it had rattled her nerves deeply. Satya didn’t like disorder and messing with her hair was a criminal offense. 

 

As expected, the girl was looking pale underneath her perfect make up. She was carefully dicing her omelette into even cubes, her lips pressed into a fine line. 

 

“Hello Satya.”

 

“Hello Hanzo.” she greeted back, her voice a bit higher pitched than usual. “I'm checking the food for Canary Creams and Ton-Tongue Toffees. Fawkes had some, but Rutledge carries the Miraculous Mayhem Remover around with him. They checked the Hospital Wing just in case. I expect that Mister Zenyatta will have it covered by the time the match starts. Also, Amélie has not woken up, but I've seen her arguing in whispers with Lena Oxton and leave. I highly suspect they are engaging in last minute… _Consorting_ , to make up for the match’s future necessities.”

 

Hanzo’s heart leapt in his throat when he heard the word _consorting_. He was aware of Satya's prattle on on their other teammates, evacuating the stress induced by the now impending doom of their chances to win the Cup, but he heard nothing of it, instead scanning the Gryffindor table. Amari was there, with Genji motivating their supporters in every other house. Slytherin had none of that. Well, sure some clasps on the shoulder, lots of cheers at their own table and Professor Lindhelm and Professor Morrison giving each other the stink eye over their matching bowls of porridge, but nothing else. 

 

Hanzo could barely eat. McCree had entered the hall with Amari under a round of applause. He couldn’t watch. Couldn’t even begin to let the thought that this was all a ploy to destabilise him again this year take root. He wasn’t destabilised. Hanzo might not have had as many ladies or gentlemen at his arm than Zaryanova, (or as some called her,  _ The Buff Hufflepuff _ ) or the youngest Shimada brother, but he was attractive, had a girlfriend, even a boyfriend. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. 

 

*

**

*

 

Professor Reinhardt’s whistle rang and Hanzo rose high in the air on his Storm Bolt, zipping past his teammates to the goalposts, intercepting the Quaffle Amari had gotten and thrown immediately with her usual strength.

 

The match was just as long-winded and bloody as it was last year. Hanzo kept glancing at Amélie when Satya was leading their Chasers in their close knit formation. However, he didn’t have a lot of time to see if how she baited the much more hot blooded younger Seeker into feints as they compromised.  _ L’Acromentule aime jouer avec sa nourriture. _ Amari was relentless and seemed to be shouting to counter the Slytherin Chaser’s tight formation, exploiting every flaw ruthlessly and allowing McCree to take possession of the Quaffle more often than not. 

 

The Peacekeeper, he called his age old Firebolt, the best broom in the world. It was an antique and such a beautiful and  _ incredibly  _ sturdy piece of magical engineering that it was now passed from fathers to sons in a prime condition. McCree’s was one of the very last ones made, Hanzo heard him brag one day. He said he had to forego any kind of allowance until his majority to convince his parents to let him ride it until he finished school. Hanzo had snorted; it was probably a lot of rubbish. Oxton’s broom was faster anyway. She had tried a flanking strategy that seemed to work on their Chasers’ formation most of the time, harassing them, finding the flaws, slipping in and out of it, more often than not, with the Quaffle she passed onto Amari or McCree. Her broom, the Slipstream, should be forbidden. It wasn’t even a sports broom, but a travel broom that could teleport short distances and was advertised as a broom that could fly backwards, something that Lena  _ “Tracer” _ Oxton seemed to enjoy doing. She had thus become a master at it. 

 

The only broom on this pitch that matched this kind of performances was the more recent Japanese made Storm Bolt, his trusty broom. However, it wasn’t made for acrobatics. It was extremely precise for such a heavy and stable broom though. Perfect for a Keeper. Five years of Quidditch on it, including the intense Gryffindor vs Slytherin matches and it had never failed him…

 

However, their team was fairly new. Of the old team, only Hanzo and Amélie remained. Satya had gained a lot of experience in this year’s matches, but finals with such high risks and high rewards were still a first to her. To Hanzo, it seemed she handled Bludgers expertly, however, she had trouble wrestling the Quaffle from the more experimented Gryffindor Chasers. That was why Hanzo had come up with the formation. Never fly alone and dodge as one. Satya was good at leading it, seemingly dancing on her Devi 8, her fellow Chasers following her, the three of them, a green torrent waving toward the goals, scoring more often than not. 

 

Hanzo made up for it by keeping an iron fist on the goal posts. For now, only Satya managed to put the Quaffle home painfully. McCree and Farah had seven occasions to score, each.

 

Which was why Gryffindor led 40 to 20. 

 

Hanzo had his head in the game. The yells, the cheers, Lúcio Correia dos Santos’ commentary, all of it was simply a delightful background music as he simply  _ felt _ the game, now. He could almost see Oxton’s work and that wasn’t always possible, Lúcio was usually the only one quick enough to manage this feat. Amari's ascents, McCree's dangerous throws... His focused mind were so focused on it he was very happy he chose those brutes, Fawkes and Rutledge, for they were always tailing the Bludgers, in a hurry to hit anything they were sanctioned to. 

 

Then, it seemed Amélie had seen the Snitch and Lúcio went wild, rousing the crowd. However, she simply led Song on wild goose chases. Hanzo disliked it and even snorted as he saw the Snitch sneak behind him through one of Slytherin’s goals. Amélie only caught the snitch on the former’s captain order, Gérard Lacroix, who graduated three years ago. Hanzo had tried to change that, but Amélie didn’t like it. However, he had no better Seeker. 

 

He was drifting again, losing his focus. This was not the time, McCree on his Firebolt ( _ Peacekeeper _ , he insisted, which was ridiculous...) was speeding, Satya’s formation breaking to form a defense. However, Hanzo knew it was too late. McCree sped up again, all of it happening so slowly for him. 

 

_ Warm lips. Hands softly resting on his waist. Arms slightly tensing. _

 

Hanzo caught the Quaffle. He almost didn’t believe it, but these moments in the kitchen gave him the key. The key to McCree’s freakish aim.  _ Oh sweet Merlin _ , Hanzo held McCree in the palm of his hand!

 

Flashing a huge smile to the American wizard, Hanzo threw the Quaffle into Batseb’s waiting hands who was free to lead the formation until Fawkes freed Satya of the Bludger tailing her. 

 

A huge clamor came from the stands. 

 

“ _ D.Va is speeding to the ground with Acromentule! Who is going to catch the Golden Snitch? We can see it and both girls, quite pretty, both of them, and very talented at dueling... _ ”

 

“ _ Mr Correia _ .” the terse voice of Professor Morrison warned, too close to the microphone not to be broadcasted as well. 

 

“ _ Sorry Professor, but can’t you… BY MERLIN’S FIDDLE! THIS WAS A CLUMSILY EXECUTED WRONSKI FEINT! BUT WHAT A WRONSKI FEINT FROM ACROMENTULE! _ ”

 

Amélie had let Song crash onto the ground at the very last minute, her Cauchemardesque, seeming lighter than a feather, letting its rider only skim on the ground while Song’s Korean made broom, simply broke with her on the dry grass. 

 

Amari quickly called for a break, which Professor Wilhelm approved, seeing the scattered remains of the MEKA. 

 

The match going their way this time. Hana “D.Va” Song was incapacitated. Mister Zenyatta was attending to her injuries, but her broom was definitely ruined. Hanzo touched ground with the others. Everyone was patting Amélie on the back, as if she had actually caught the damn Snitch. 

 

“Care to put an end to the Gryffindor’s misery, Amélie?” Hanzo asked with this tone that worked perfectly well on Fawkes and Rutledge, but failed to make her do anything. 

 

She simply rolled her eyes. 

 

Hana was given a replacement broom, apparently. Hanzo saw her switching with McCree and another girl from Ravenclaw who was in his Potion N.E.W.T. class. Angela Ziegler. Amari’s girlfriend, if he remembered well.

 

Ten minutes after they all got back in the air, Hanzo heard a familiar voice. 

 

_ Oh no.  _

 

“Hey! McCree told me to tell you you shouldn’t have taken all the luck!” the Gryffindor Beater (and also, sadly, Hanzo’s little brother) yelled as he circled around the goalposts. 

 

Hanzo became livid, anger replacing everything in his sight.

 

_ It had been a joke, then.  _

 

“Hey, Hanzo?” Genji yelled again, this time, looking a bit unsure.

 

However, Rutledge, seeing an enemy Beater near his goals, quickly dispatched one of the Bludgers after him. Fawkes took care of sending it back once the Gryffindor was gone. A Bludger at the goals was as dangerous as a Quaffle. Well. More. 

 

Hanzo cleared his mind as the two boys flew away, following the Chasers. Steeling himself, he stopped more Quaffles than he ever did before. McCree’s included. He saw the tension, saw the ripple even underneath the sleeve of his crimson Quidditch robe. For a moment, Hanzo really wanted to get Fawkes’s bat and bludgeon him with it. 

 

_ Stupid sandwich, stupid kiss, stupid McCree! _

 

_ “THIS IS IT, THIS TIME! NO JOKE! THE SCORE IS TIGHT AS...” _

 

_ “MR. CORREIA, YOU WILL NOT FINISH THIS SENTENCE!” _

 

_ “...AND ACROMENTULE AND D.VA ARE SHOULDER TO SHOULDER, THIS TIME FLYING UPWARDS SO HIGH IT’S HARD TO SEE! THANKFULLY, I STILL HAVE MY SPECIAL BINOCULARS FROM LAST SUMMER’S WORLD CUP IN BRAZIL!” _

 

This was it. Hanzo was certain this was the Snitch this time. The score was too tight and despite the silent treatment, Amélie “ _ Acromentule _ ” De Sylvestre liked to put up a show. However, it wasn’t the end until the Snitch was caught, which meant one thing. 

 

Satya had just scored their fifth goal and Gryffindor wasn’t leading so much that they would win either way, Amari had the Quaffle and she was diving, straight for the goalposts. Amélie had to hurry and catch the thing, they had a deal!

 

Focusing back on Amari whose shots were even deadlier from above, Hanzo didn’t see the first Bludger. It hit his arm with a sickening crunch that tore a scream from him. Another almost beheaded him as he moved to block the pass Amari was certain to make. He was faintly aware that there was blood on his face, but Storm Bolt was one of the best brooms in the world and he was in it,  _in the game_. As expected, Amari dropped the Quaffle into McCree’s waiting hand below the Slytherin Keeper, Satya and Hanzo both too slow to intercept it and Rutledge and Fawkes finding the Slytherin penalty area too crowded to safely redirect the Bludgers both away from Hanzo and into any Gryffindor Chaser, which usually didn't deter the Junkrat, but he too wanted to win. 

 

Hanzo saw McCree focused teeth bared, determination in his eyes. His arm twitched again, his brow creased, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly on his brown eyes. 

 

That was it. Hanzo took a deep breath, steeling himself against the pain and the sweat and the sun and  _ McCree’s treacherous tongue _ . 

 

_It was noon,_ Hanzo realised as he felt the sweat slowly drying on his forehead. Hanzo yelled in Japanese and managed to:

 

Deflect the first shot with the tail of his broom. 

 

Deflect the second shot with his broken arm. 

 

Catch the third shot with his good one, the Pennifold Charm a blessing. 

 

_ “SHIMADA BLOCKED ALL OF MCCREE'S DEADEYE SHOTS AND ACROMENTULE HAS THE SNITCH! THIS IS A VICTORY FOR SLYTHERIN! A VICTORY FOR SLYTHERIN!" _

 

Hanzo didn’t hear the rest. He was just relieved. He felt like sleeping. Why was his head upside down? When had the wind started to blow so strongly?

 

Strong arms caught him. Wasn’t that Ziegler’s broom?


	4. Now: Home Sweet Home Part. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My unbetaed mess of self indulgent gay stuff because I don't want to bother my coworker Don. 
> 
> I checked in on the High Tiddy, though, I might find someone.

The motel was only a state over. It was dirty and dingy. 

 

A little bit of magic with his dad’s old credit card (which was really knowing the code hadn’t changed in forty years), bought him a room for the night under the name of Daniel Jimenez. 

 

A single bed, a television, a lamp, a table, a chair. All within a hundred squared feet. Enough for now. 

 

He rid the table of all the tourist oriented pamphlets ( _ Visit Deadlock Gorge and its stunning view of the American desert _ ) and took inventory of everything he had on him. 

 

Muggle clothing, on his back: a black t-shirt, a Christmas sweater, a pair of jeans and a pair of black Chuck Taylors with a change of underclothes and a spare shirt, one with proper buttons if he had to attend fancy shindigs like church or something. 

 

Two wizarding robes. A casual one, red, his old cloak old and thin but beset with powerful liquid repellent and warming charms as well as protective runes. A yellow dress robe to visit  _ abuelo _ and  _ shiwóyé _ ’s graves, part of why he came here. It had been a long time and he had wanted to make the journey with his mother. From his suitcase, he also dug up his trusty dragonhide boots, complete with spurs. He took a brief moment to remove his Chucks and replace them. 

 

There was now his father’s credit card and old Stetson hat. His mother’s pendant in which Señor Jimenez was making little Valentina twirl under what looked like ancient sequoia trees. 

 

Jesse let himself drop into a trance at the sight of his mother as a child.  

  
  


He remembered  _ abuelo _ and  _ shiwóyé _ bringing him to the same forest, their now adult daughter standing a behind them. 

 

Jesse too had made the leaves fly, had jumped high and high, feeling his little body full to the brim with magic, to the point he even thought he was going to burst. 

 

_ Shiwóyé _ had pinched his cheeks with red fingers and left a trace above his nose he had fallen asleep with at the end of the day. 

 

He wished his grandparents had told him more of the ancient ways. That was partly his fault, he knew. Going to Britain to study and everything, leaving the States behind. 

 

Chasin the moisture streaming down his face again, Jesse continued his inventory.

 

He turned on the phone his father had given him for Christmas, saying that should he come back, they'd get a proper subscription. Jesse had bought one at the airport, thinking of letting his parents know he was coming, but changing his mind at the last second. So now, he had a phone number but no one to call and no one would ever call him. He snorted before putting it away in a pocket. Muggles were crazy for the stuff, maybe having one on his person could help him pass better...

 

Jesse had brought only a few of his wizarding belongings, only planning to stay a couple of days after all, before going round the world and try and see new things. So he had his wand, a Sneakoscope and a small hand mirror. 

 

This handmirror was a very special, very magical object. It was a gift from an annoying little guy who liked to dye his hair in funny colours. Lots of green, though, for some reason. 

 

Genji Shimada was three years younger than Jesse, but they had been best friend ever since the little Japanese boy had been sorted in Gryffindor house with him. When they were both students, the day of his first visit to the neighbouring wizarding village of Hogsmeade, Genji had wanted to see everything and had weighted the heavy purse holding the generous allowance he was given by his rich parents carefully.  He had wanted his first purchase in a British wizarding village to be important and special. 

 

So he had asked for the input of everyone in the House of Gryffindor. Fareeha, their Quidditch captain, had suggested he bought a broom kit or a good bat as he had recently joined the team as a Beater. 

 

“Nah, everyone buys Quidditch supplies. Also, I’ll buy mine from the same store as my big brother...”

 

Then Lena had started to wax on the wonders of Honeydukes, the sweets shop.

 

“Nah, too obvious!” Genji had dismissed. “It’s probably going to be too crowded anyway.”

 

Hana, their young Seeker, the youngest in about fifty years (the last had been the Great Harry Potter, a legend and her personal hero), had simply whined and told him to bring her back Butterbeer _or else_... She had been extremely jealous of the fact that students below the third year weren't able to leave the castle at that time, never mind that she would be going herself soon enough. 

 

"And you, Jesse, do you have an idea?" Genji had asked. "What are you usually doing when you're in Hogsmeade?"

 

Jesse had sputtered and stammered, embarrassed to tell the truth. Tell the truth to Genji  _ Shimada _ of all people. If he knew, then the whole Gryffindor House would know in a matter of seconds. And then  _ he _ too would know. So he had made up a little lie, an obvious one because he wasn’t a good liar, back then. 

 

At the Hog’s Head that day, Jesse had made Genji swear that he wouldn't say anything to anyone.  _ Especially not his brother _ . 

 

After bribing the bartender, managing to buy for themselves a single glass of firewhiskey on the rocks (that was an always lot of ice, but the boys didn’t mind, feeling extremely smug despite the awkward and embarrassing tearstained confession), the teenagers found themselves in Dervish and Banges, Jesse's favourite shop. 

 

Genji had found the mirrors there, seemingly broken and buried in a pile of old dejects upon which rested a _Recycle your Magical Objects_  sign. 

 

"Oh! Oh! My mother sells some of those too!" he had exclaimed. 

 

The thirteen years old had dived in the pile to dig them out and ran to the surly young wizard running the shop, buying them for only a few Sickles. With a huge smile, the little boy had ran to the Owlery where he gave the package to his big brother's Eagle-Owl.  

 

A month later, Genji presented Jesse with the repaired mirror. A functioning communication mirror personally repaired by Mrs Shimada herself. T hus had started a very interesting friendship. 

 

Genji and Jesse would often chat using the mirrors when they couldn't be in the same room (usually, during Genji's frequent detentions). During the long summer when they both went back to their respective countries of birth, having a slice of their Hogwarts life was a boon. Genji's disappointment and arguments with his family were soothed by Jesse's advice and reassurance and when Jesse graduated and became unhappy in his both love life and his job, Genji was there through the mirrors, to help him navigate the strange tides of his older brother’s temperament and...

 

Jesse stopped right then and there.

 

He should call Genji. However, it meant he would have to say _his_ name for the first time in fifteen years and try not to sound demanding or desperate or even, Merlin forbid it, grieving. 

 

Genji would instantly know something was wrong . Nothing went past the brother he never had. Hand _he,_  even if he had not given his heart to _him_  (once, long ago), he was too damn observant, he would know too. 

 

Jesse didn’t want to go through this. However, justice wasn’t going to dispense itself. 

 

He briefly looked at his watch. Right now, in London it was eleven. He would have been at work. Which meant it was probably early in the evening in Japan. 

 

_ And an awful hour right now in Arizona _ , he thought, not holding the sigh that escaped from his lips. 

 

His throat dry, he activated the mirror. It flashed white for a second before turning a deep shade of red in a matter of seconds. 

 

Startled, Jesse turned the object in his hands, wondering what was happening. 

 

“Just a minute, Jesse!” he heard his friend’s voice say hurriedly. 

 

From his dingy motel room in the States, Jesse smiled upon watching how Genji went to great lengths to hide himself in was looked like a broom shed. Soon, the image focused on the younger man. 

 

He had indeed dyed his hair red. The Quidditch World cup had taken place in Australia this year and Genji was one very enthusiast supporter of the Japanese National team which lost in the semi-finals against the stronger Ugandans. In fact, Genji was entranced by Quidditch that he was actually the team’s first financial benefactor and thus had free tickets for all of their matches. He had offered some to Jesse, but there had been work to do. Even when there wasn't. 

 

Genji had thankfully never pushed him very far on the subject. 

 

“So, why are you calling? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Genji asked, removing an old broom that had fallen onto his lap. 

 

Jesse would have recognised the blue handle of the  _ Storm Bolt _ anywhere, as old and wizened as it looked now. He wondered where his old  _ Firebolt _ was now. The lucky elusive broom of legend that showed itself only to the worthy had disappeared from his trunk once he had signed up for Auror Training, disregarding every invitation he had to play for every Quidditch team in Britain (save for the Holyhead Harpies who only offered him a two years internship and the opportunity to train with their girls instead...)

 

“Well, I sort of took a few days off, I’m not at home, right now…” Jesse started. 

 

Better do this quick, he thought. Taking a deep breath and not quite managing to say it very loud or in an articulate manner, he drawled. 

 

“I was wondering… Is Hanzo there?”

 

There, nailed it!

 

“Hanzo?” Genji asked in an inflection reminiscent of his native tongue. “He’s… Well… Why the sudden interest? In fifteen years, anything that would remotely pertain to his person was either expertly avoided or stuffed under a carpet somewhere. Carpet I highly suspect is made of the remains of your broken heart, actually...”

 

Jesse winced. There was enough truths in that to kill him several times over. 

 

“Something came up…” Jesse started to explain. “Something about wands… Don’t laugh, you idiot!” the American immediately snapped at his laughing friend. 

 

Genji will forever be a man child. He was well protected, that was sure. It was damn annoying to deal with the spoiled brat side of him, though.

 

“Yes, wands. My brother’s  _ wand.  _ Very serious.” Genji said, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye. “So… Are you sure you want to use the communication mirror to speak with my brother?”

 

Jesse took a deep breath. Before his eyes, he saw the grey skin and the empty eyes. 

 

“Yes. Yes I’m sure.”

 

*

**

*

 

Hanzo Shimada had been a pretty boy. Fifteen years later, he was now a handsome man. A  _ very _ handsome man. 

 

Age had of course spared no one. Crows feet, greying temples, receding hairlines. The forties had given the wandmaker a distinguished air that reminded Jesse very painfully that he had been in love with him for twenty years or so. 

 

“Jesse McCree.” he said in front of the mirror, holding it awkwardly compared to his brother. 

 

It was as if he was looking at it sideways, not meeting the eyes Jesse knew he would see on his side, all the way across the Pacific ocean. Despite that, his voice was polite, even as it held trace of an accent he had took great pains to erase back then. Clearly, it had been a very long time since Hanzo Shimada last spoke English on a daily basis. 

 

“I was told you had a wand problem.” the wandmaker asked. 

 

Straight to the point. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker he could go back to his investigation and far, very far away from Hanzo  _ bloody _ Shimada, so it suited him well.

 

“I found a destroyed cherrywood wand on a crime scene. Dragon heartstring.”

 

Hanzo’s eyebrow rose in what Jesse had learned was focus. Or sexual tension. Damn, it’s been too long, he didn’t know if he still knew to decode Hanzo Shimada’s expressions. 

Jesse felt out of sorts, out of his element for the first time since he had stepped foot on American soil less than twenty four hours ago. To hide his hesitance and lack of confidence, he picked up the first thing his left hand landed on, his father’s hat, and put it on his head. 

 

“I see why you called for me then.” Hanzo said. “Cherrywood does sound like a wand of Asian make. Westerners don’t like its sweet taste or the way it overly complicates Transfiguration spells. However, it is well appreciated as a wand that will perform well… Even in the hands of a magic user with few experience or… Less used to such tools…”

 

Jesse wondered what Hanzo meant. He definitely meant something with that. Maybe it was simply because Europeans brought wands to the rest of the world late, even as each region had their own tradition in spellcasting, from hand waving to calligraphy. 

 

“It looked new. Almost no fingerprints. So it’s definitely not a family heirloom." Jesse started to drone on to fill the silence that had started to set. "Also the victim’s wand wasn’t found, so I was definitely thinking of a contraband wand. I’d very much like it back to… Return it to its owner...”

 

Jesse straightened the Stetson on his head, already tipping his hat, hoping he hadn’t heard him almost say  _ mama _ . He should stop the call, clearly, he wasn't going to make it through it without revealing at least one of the two very strong emotions he felt right now.

 

However, suddenly, the image of the man in the mirror shifted. He was looking at his eyes now, directly. Eyes that always knew the truth of him. 

 

“A crime scene, you say?” Hanzo started what Jesse knew to be the beginning of a long line of exhausting questionning. 

 

“Well, there were two corpses struck by the Killing Curse, I’d say this qualifies as a crime scene.”

 

“Where are you McCree?” 

 

“None of your business, Shimada.”

 

“McCree, you are wearing a Muggle hat.” Hanzo pointed out coldly. “Where are you?”

 

Jesse sighed. The name of the town and state rolled off his tongue almost without his consent, but he did say it with that dejected voice he couldn’t keep in. Hanzo did that to him, he could never lie. 

 

Hanzo’s features mellowed suddenly, his dark eyes glinting with something between pity and compassion. The following words were sincere and a reminder of everything Jesse had loved about him. He understood things. He understood  _ him _ .

 

“I am sorry for your loss, Jesse.” Hanzo said.

 

With those words uttered, Jesse felt instantly better, as if he had taken a Pepper-Up potion after a very bad case of sniffles. 

 

“Thank you.” Jesse offered, lifting the hat on his head to nonchalantly scratch the top of his forehead. “I… I’m mighty glad to hear it from you. Considering… Y’know…”

 

Just appreciating the gesture. Or had he gone too far?

 

A blank look stared back at him in the mirror, as if an iron curtain had suddenly fallen before Hanzo’s features. Jesse recognised it. Hated it. It was one of the numerous reason why he had let him go at the time. 

 

“Please, tell me more of where you are.” Hanzo asked, his voice carefully neutral. “I could use a break from work and helping a friend in need is a worthy cause. I’d very much like to see the wand you found, or what’s left of it. If it came from one of my… Asian colleagues, we could put your parents murderer into jail  _ and _  a competitor of mine out of business. A win-win situation.”

 

Hanzo did not smile to him, because he knew it would just bring him a negative response, Jesse decided. He was well accustomed with Hanzo’s business sense. It had never failed them when striking bargains (like the little flat they had called home) and… Well, it might not mean much in either America or Japan, but he had been a Slytherin and the son of a very well known and reputable Japanese businessman. It was in his blood. It of course came with a crocodile smile. Hanzo had ten of those for each sincere one that ever graced his lovely face and they both knew it. 

 

And, Oh! The win-win situation! Jesse had plenty to say about the win-win situations he got into with Hanzo. Never giving anything before he reaped the full benefits of it. Not even love. Love didn’t count, never counted, even if Jesse knew Hanzo had felt it at some point, he never showed it first, always took and gave so precious few. It was tiring, it was exhausting, the upkeep was too high, so  _ Jesse had let him go _ .  _ Stay on good terms. He’s going back to his family, they need him. _

 

_ Sometimes, I hate Hanzo Shimada with the strength of an army of Pukwudgies.  _

 

Straightening the Stetson on his head again, Jesse tried to find a proper excuse. 

 

“Well, it’s late in the day for you and you’ve got the whole Pacific Ocean and then some to cross, so I guess you can’t come.”

 

“I have my ways.” Hanzo dismissed with a snort. “Just in case, expect me in more than twenty-four hours. Maybe closer to thirty-six.”

 

“ _ Hanzo…” _

 

“See you tomorrow Jesse.”

 

And just like that, Hanzo Shimada disappeared from the mirror. Jesse swore and sighed. He shouldn’t have called. 

 

The mirror suddenly flashed again and Hanzo’s voice piped up: 

 

“You have a black smudge on your forehead, McCree, please take care of it  _ before _ I arrive, yes?”

 

The American almost threw the mirror across his room. Almost. 


	5. Then: Good Luck Kiss Part. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part of the Good Luck Kiss.
> 
> You know what it means...
> 
> IT'S EXAM TIME!

The smell of the Hospital Wing was horrible, as always. Too clean. Feeling like he had been ran over by a herd of Re’Em, Hanzo didn’t even dare get up. However, he dared cracking his eyes open. 

 

It was dark. In fact, it was probably the dead of night. However, Genji was asleep at his side, wearing his red Quidditch robe still and holding a soft pink one under his head. 

 

Hanzo smiled at his little brother’s sleeping form. He disapproved of his tendancy to wander the corridors after curfew, but this year, he realised, it would be the last time he would be able to scold him for it. Slowly reaching to touch the pink robe, he felt tears come to his eyes. The fabric slowly turned gold beneath his fingers. Yes, this was definitely his old Mahoukotoro robe. He was amazed at how large it looked beneath his brother’s head. Did it grow even as he wasn’t wearing it? When did Genji even take it? Last he knew, Father had kept every supplies Hanzo had used at the Japanese wizarding pre-school under lock and key and Genji did not attend the school at all, since the Shimada had moved to Britain as soon as it was decided that they would both be educated abroad...

 

Despite the earlier teasing, Hanzo knew he couldn’t stay mad at Genji for very long. Caressing his brother’s brow, lightly, he sighed. He doubted he’d be able to go to sleep with such a throbbing headache.  Thankfully, his arm was healed. However, Hanzo knew head injuries were trickier, meaning that he probably shouldn’t move at all. He still made a bit more room for Genji’s head, wiggling to the side that had not been hurt. 

 

It was easier than he thought to find sleep. 

 

In fact, he slept all of Sunday morning. His dreams were busy dealing with the mixed feelings he had for McCree. Had he approached him to give Genji fodder for their despicable tactic?

 

Hanzo grudgingly accepted the lettuce and tuna sandwich Mr. Zenyatta, the Mediwizard, gave him before letting him go, and let Genji talk his ear off.  It seemed the younger boy felt bad for hurting Hanzo indirectly by sending a Bludger at him.

 

“You were concussed, Hanzo!” he whined in Japanese.

 

“We’re wizards.” Hanzo argued. Indeed he had been cleared by the Mediwizard. 

 

“I don’t care, I’m escorting you to the dungeons, remember when you fell down the stairs?” the younger Shimada retorted. 

 

“You fell down the stairs on me on your way from Charms, thus causing my own fall.” his older brother reminded him.

 

“Yeah, but you spent two days in the  _ Hospital Wing _ just the same!”

 

It was funny how Genji interjected English words so easily in his Japanese. Hanzo speaked one or the other. There was no in between.  Well, except maybe for Quidditch. It was a European sport, after all. 

 

“Brother?” Genji asked as they passed the corridor that led to the kitchens. 

 

“Yes?” Hanzo answered. 

 

“I…” 

  
Genji’s face scrunched. Just like everytime he said something personal. His Confession Face, Hanzo called it.

 

“I just realised… The Bludger isn’t my only misdeed. I wasn’t fair on the pitch and… And it was your last game before graduating…”

 

Hanzo sighed. 

 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to feel guilty for following your captain’s orders.” he said, wishing Amélie had followed his without negotiating her cat and mouse game first. 

 

Genji just snorted at that.

 

“Fareeha never approved the tactic! She scolded me. She says I’m lucky to have you as a brother and shouldn’t antagonise you… Jesse said it was funny to watch, but he was against it too, told me we had to play fair or something… But cheating is half the fun in Quidditch…”

 

Hanzo stopped in his tracks and blurted out: 

 

“What did you say?” 

 

“Uh?” Genji grunted, taken aback. “Cheating is half the fun in Quidditch, anyway?”

 

“No, before that!” Hanzo burst out, alarmed.

 

“Oh, well, I teased Jesse because I saw him follow you the day before the match, after Junkrat and D.Va fought. He said he was just wishing you good luck, but not too hard to keep some for us… And then he told me not to repeat that to you ever, so I figured, maybe…”

 

Genji looked strange. 

 

“I… What happened when he followed you? I need to be sure. Please!”

 

Hanzo didn’t want to talk about it to Genji. Not when he was so close to the Slytherin common room where they could be overheard. 

 

“Let’s get something to eat…” he said instead, turning left towards the kitchens and Hufflepuff’s common room, instead of his own. 

 

“I’m asking because it’s very, very important to me, alright! I’m not joking!” Genji said, stressing the Japanese words in a very formal serious tone, something completely unlike him. 

 

“Ok. If it’s that import…” Hanzo started. 

 

He stopped. 

 

Nonchalantly waiting by the kitchen’s painting, wand twirling between his deft fingers, was Jesse McCree.  Hanzo wanted to flee. However, he had promised his brother an explanation.  Said brother suddenly burst into a high pitched laughter that was probably heard in the Headmaster’s office.

 

“Well… If I expected to be laughed about, then I’d have stayed in the common room, at least Hana’s making me practicing my dodges…” the Chaser drawled. 

 

At Hanzo’s interrogating look, Genji managed to say, in between peals of laughter. 

 

“Hana’s mad at him for missing those last goals when you were incapacitated. Also she blames him because she was borrowing his broom after hers broke in the Wronski Feint.”

 

And after that, he managed to calm himself, but far from explaining his hilarity, he took off instead, but not without very embarrassing parting words, as was his habit: 

 

“Alright, Jesse, don’t hurt my brother. You know us Japanese wizards know nasty curses, like the ones that can shrivel your balls and turn them black?”

 

“What?!” Hanzo shrieked as McCree turned quite pale. 

 

“Go back to the common room, you little brat!” he hollered after the laughing fifth year who disappeared in a side corridor Hanzo had not even noticed. “Well, ain’t he a Horned Serpent…” he growled under his breath. 

 

The Slytherin heard, though. 

 

“Isn’t the House of the Horned Serpent supposed to favour scholars?” Hanzo asked, an eyebrow raised. 

 

McCree seemed shocked. 

 

“Hmm… Well, my Mama was one and she’s always reminding me to do well at school, so, yeah, I suppose, but… That wasn’t what I meant… Wait, did you look up Ilvermorny?” he asked. 

 

It was Hanzo’s turn to be embarrassed. He had done so indeed, a very long time ago. 

 

“Yes.” he simply admitted. 

 

He turned around, silently cursing his brother. He had nothing else to do here.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” the Gryffindor asked.

 

“I was supposed to eat with Genji, but he apparently has other plans, so I’m going to see if my common room hasn’t been turned upside down by yesterday’s revelries.” Hanzo explained, trying to keep the mixed feelings, any feeling to show in his voice. 

 

McCree’s eyes turned dull, as if he was trying to control an expression too… Was it sadness? No, disappointment. His curiosity piqued, Hanzo did not swallow back his question: 

 

“Genji told me you disapproved of the tactic he used last year and yesterday, why?”

 

“Well… It wasn’t fair, y’know…” McCree said, his drawl made longer and higher pitched by hesitation and… 

 

Something else that made Hanzo remember Friday. Of course, remembering Friday, and that acutely, in presence of Jesse McCree, made him feel like his heart wanted to leap outside his chest and thought that beating at the same speed as the flutter of a Snitch’s wings would probably work. 

 

“And… I think I like you. Maybe. A little bit. I mean…”

 

Hanzo felt light headed. But, Hanzo was always prized for his strong grip on priorities, even in when bathed in deadlines. He liked to think he managed to get twelve O.W.L.s by carefully managing his study time thus, and planned to do so again next week. 

 

“Did you tell Genji about… _About Friday_?” he asked, as neutrally as he could. 

 

“Not that I can think of? I might have mentioned wishing you luck, but… Plenty of people wish other people luck without sticking their tongues down their throats so…  _ Oh sweet Merlin! _ That’s why he was cackling like he was under a Rictumsempra Charm! You were talking about...  _ that _ ?”

 

“Not exactly… He apologised and mentioned you were against teasing me.” Hanzo said, feeling like strangling Genji. It felt better, helped him stand better on his feet, not like his knees were about to give out. Stay angry at Genji. Forget what the Gryffindor Chaser had said. 

 

“I must confess… Last year, I sort of admitted _ …  _ To him…” McCree whispered almost inaudibly. 

 

However, they were in a corridor that seemed to be empty, to Hanzo, he might as well have been shouting. 

 

“He was curious about why I was so against it when we barely talked unless it was some Defence Against the Dark Arts assignment… I made him swear not to tell you because I… I wanted to be the one to… to…  _ TotellyouIlikeyouandthatIthinkyourehot _ .”

 

Hanzo felt as if he had been given a blow to the chest. He stopped breathing. Had he heard correctly? He couldn't know between the American accent and the speed at which he spoke, clearly embarrassed.  _Jesse McCree likes me and thinks I'm hot. Oh, Great Azure Dragon, help me._

 

“... Really, I’ve been for a long time, but then you were going out with that Hufflepuff girl and then the Malfoy boy...”

 

“It’s alright.” Hanzo said, interrupting him. 

 

He didn’t know what to do now. Logic dictated that he had to state his own feelings before leaving, as letting anyone stew after such a confession was simply too cruel. His throat was dry because he wanted to be honest and sincere and he wasn’t really used to it in a romantic setting. Maybe that was why they didn’t work. He hadn’t found someone he  _ wanted to be sincere to. _ Someone with which a kiss would truly mean something. Someone who…  _ Clicked _ .

 

“I… Enjoyed… Friday, I mean… The sandwich...”

 

_ Do not talk about the stupid sandwich! _

 

“Well, it was nice… Sharing with you…” Hanzo coughed up, his throat feeling dry and parched.

 

McCree’s face since to fall apart with every word, unlike his spine that seemed like it was getting straighter. 

 

“I feel a bit guilty for… For placing the blame on you when Genji teased me during the match... However... Well, the luck you gave me was very helpful yesterday... During the match...”

 

“It’s alright Shimada, I understand.” he tried to interrupt, the voice too flavourless and flat to be recognisable as his. 

 

However Hanzo wasn’t finished and kept on, speaking a bit louder than necessary. 

 

“...I feel like I should give you some of my own luck, since... Well, I’m already all set for the N.E.W.T.s… I don’t need it at all and… Maybe you would like receive it...”

 

McCree’s jaw fell and Hanzo looked at him expectantly. He regained his bearings quite quickly though.  _ (What must he look like? A first year with a crush?) _

 

“Of course, only if you agree.” he added, formally, overly aware of the formal stiffness of his voice… And would his heart stop hammering in his chest, pretty please, he could barely hear himself talk!

 

“I agree.” McCree immediately whispered, breathless, his eyes shining with something like hope and disbelief. 

 

Hanzo took careful steps in his direction. Was his heart going to fly? Neither of them were Seekers, he didn’t know if they would be able to catch it, he thought idly. 

 

McCree took the additional step, sensing Hanzo’s hesitation, or maybe… Did he see his knees wobble? This was embarrassing. However, when they fell into each other's arms, it seemed to click. Hanzo had never felt it  _ click _ before. Kisses, with girls or with boys were supposed to be the same old thing. Then why did he feel warmth in his stomach, where their bodies met, why did he want more of those atrociously rough and chapped lips, framed by an unshaven chin that scratched his face, but didn’t seem to deter him as much as he thought it would. Well, it was soft… Maybe there were advantages to a proper beard, he thought when they gasped, looking for air and McCree’s head fell into his neck to plant feather light kisses there. 

 

The magic was gone when Jesse’s stomach protested with loud grumbles, making them laugh. Hanzo raised his arm, not letting go of the Gryffindor’s, to tickle the pear and allow them to enter the kitchen. 

  
They didn’t hear Genji doing a victory dance in the stairs or Lena Oxton grumpily dropping three golden Galleons into a smirking Amélie De Sylvestre’s waiting hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny because I totally think Bastion's sandwich is the best matchmaker ever.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Hanzo PoV will still be set in the past, but will tell how well they did on their NEWTs


	6. Now: Home Sweet Home Part. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a clue of what I'm doing  
> Unbetaed mess of whatever this is supposed to be

Jesse almost called the American authorities and packed back up for Britain his tail between his legs. 

 

Almost. He had of course gone to the small lavatory first to wash the black smudge Hanzo was talking about, only to notice watching it in the mirror that they seemed to form _letters_. Letters he could read in the mirror.

 

Rushing back to the desk where he had left the cowboy hat, he inspected it only to feel his breath freeze in his chest: written in big blocky letters someone, seemingly his father judging by the slant of the D, had written  _ Deadlock: Beware of Scourers _ .

 

Scourers with a capital  _ S _ . 

 

Now, not attending the American Wizard school was one thing. Not knowing of the Scourers and Rappaport’s law was another. His mother had always warned little Jesse, as soon as he could understand what magic was, to be wary of No-Majs that were not directly related to him through his father, and even then, not to mention or do any magic before them. His father had completely approved and this was something they had never disagreed on or argued about. That reminder, he got everyday. All his life, even when he moved to Britain where Muggles were less compromised, Valentina Jimenez-McCree had a fright of all No-Majs that didn’t sign a marriage contract with her. With good reason!

 

Some No-Majs in America were descended from very violent and hateful wizards who had called themselves Scourers. The first thing akin to a peacekeeping force in this lawless new land, bringing in magical folks to “justice”, sometimes for a fee. When the MACUSA was created and turned on them for their crimes, after the massacre of the Salem Trials that took many lives, magic users and No-Majs alike, they went into hiding within the Muggle communities there. It was believed they even disposed of their magical offspring... Jesse shuddered as he reminisced his mother's lessons in American history. 

 

In the 19th Century, a gullible Ilvermorny dropout had wooed a Muggle with a few minor charms. Said Muggle had then milked her of all information about the Wizarding Community in America and widely broadcast his findings to the Non-Magical community, thus causing the greatest Breach in the International Statute of Secrecy, the laws shrouding the wizarding community from the Muggles, in the whole History of that particular international directive.

 

Emily Rappaport’s law, prohibiting every possible interaction between the American Wizarding and No-Maj communities, was enacted after the witch responsible for the breach was apprehended and thrown in prison and most of the Muggles were obliviated. Of course, the MACUSA discovered the  Muggle to whom the naive woman had revealed the existence of the wizarding world, had been of Scourer descent. 

 

_ Someone who'd been taught from a very young age that Wizards, Witches and every other magical user, human or magical being, were dangerous scum. Someone who had survived his magical siblings. _

 

Finding this word in Daniel McCree's hat was impossible, if not absolutely preposterous. Daniel McCree simply couldn’t know of Scourers unless he was a Scourer himself and if he had been,  _ he wouldn’t have married a witch, right _ ? 

 

By the time Jesse McCree had started to process the information written in the hat, he had slept, cried, bought junk food and soup in the Motel’s automaton, gone back to sleep, looked at the hat to examine it for any hidden seams, opened his mother's locket, sniffled a bit watching the picture of wee Valentina (because it seemed he had ran out of tears) and a polite and measured knock startled him out of his stupor. 

 

“I thought it would take thirty-six hours?” Jesse barked, feeling like a child caught crying over a dead Puffskein at its funeral in the backyard.

 

“My wife helped.” Hanzo snarled, shoving the American away from the door and entering the little room without another word.

 

Jesse did a double take, turned to look at Hanzo, then at the embarrassed black woman with slanted eyes that had been revealed by Hanzo’s entrance.

 

“Sorry.” She said in an English tinted with an African accent he couldn’t place. “Shimada Masoka.” She presented herself with a bow. She then snarled to Hanzo. “But seemingly not for long, seeing as how my husband is a rude oaf who can’t be bothered to simply say hi to a grieving friend…”

 

“We haven’t all day, we left Ryuuko with Genji, of all people...” Hanzo exclaimed, looking like he had entrusted a child to a nest of werewolves.

 

Not that a all werewolves were like that of course, Jesse’s dog sitter was a werewolf herself, a poor thin girl who had dropped out of Hogwarts after earning three OWLs. He paid her handsomely to live in his appartment and keep to his dog provided she stayed wherever she usually did during her furry time of the month. He trusted her, little Victoire wouldn't hurt Betsie. 

 

“Excuse him, he’s always stressful when Genji has our son.” Mrs. Shimada whispered. “Guess he’ll always be the little brother, never to be trusted with anything more fragile than a crystal ball.” She sighed. 

 

Jesse, stunned, let the woman enter the motel room. 

 

“So, is this it?” Hanzo asked, pointing at the remains of the cherrywood wand. 

 

Jesse, without a word, removed all the clutter from the little desk and the chair, allowing Hanzo to sit down as he produced a box out of the pocket of his long blue trench coat. From it he retrieved a set of tools Jesse hadn't seen in a long time. Magnifiers were the only objects he had a name for. 

 

The American kept silent as the Japanese man worked and his wife sat on the bed. Jesse didn’t want to ask questions. He was pretty certain the only thing he would manage to say would be _So you’re married?_  Instead of the much more appropriate _any idea of who made this wand?_.

 

Thankfully, Mrs. Shimada, whose given name he completely forgot, was somewhat talkative.

 

“Don’t worry, Hanzo is the best.”

 

“I know, I called him.”

 

“I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”

 

“Thanks ma’am…”

 

“Were you close to them?”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“Well, except if they’ve been child molesters or something, I guess it changes nothing anyway...” she said with a sad smile that made Jesse think she too had lost her parents in a less conventional manner. 

 

“Quite right…” Jesse mumbled, storing the hypothesis for later.

 

Because not being close to his parents anymore changed absolutely everything. Jesse remembered the last twenty hours in a flash: they were full of guilt because  _ he wasn’t there _ . Because their last correspondence had been to let his parents know he was coming and receiving the quite boring _We’re glad you’re coming. Don’t forget: Don’t talk to No-Majs or accept candies from grown ups you don’t know._ As if, after growing in the country of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, he'd have accepted candy from  _anyone._

 

“So…” Hanzo said in a weary sigh. “Good news is... I know this wand.”

 

Jesse kept his lips carefully sealed, lest an inappropriate question crossed them. He felt his heart play drums in his chest and he was ready to drink every word from Hanzo. Not just because of their past together, but rather for the future. They had a clue, then they could follow the path it led to. For a second, Jesse felt his hand tighten on his wand in his back pocket. He felt like he could kill, right now.

 

“It’s definitely a contraband wand.” Hanzo continued, his voice flat and even. “It’s quite probable that only its maker knows of it, as it’s not registered anywhere.” The Japanese man added with this neutral expression Jesse hated so much.

 

The American man couldn’t believe it. 

 

“You made it.” Jesse grunted, disbelief coating his voice despite himself. "You made and stole the fucking wand!"

 

Hanzo stayed silent. He didn’t even have the decency to look contrite or even smug. He just held his fucking Occlumency shields up and spoke half truths because they were too damn uncomfortable for him and  _ his family. _

 

Jesse wasn’t jealous of Masoka Shimada right now, but for a second, he wanted to tear her apart, because he knew that Hanzo wouldn’t have married for anything else than _his family._ And now, after he came to help _himself_ bring down a competitor, he was going to leave and the Auror couldn’t have that. 

 

“You made that contraband wand, it ended up murdering my parents.” Jesse explicit, drawing out every word. “You owe me the truth, and the name of your customer so I can track them down and bring ‘em to justice… And if you want to bargain for it, let’s say that if you don’t give me what I want, I definitely have the power to call the MACUSA authorities. Seeing as this wand is here and you were able to find me this quick, your precious  _ family business _ won’t have an American branch anymore  _ at the very least _ .”

 

Jesse thoroughly enjoyed watching Hanzo’s walls crumble down around his mind and his face. Watching the usually composed Japanese man being thoroughly defeated for once was extremely satisfying. A revenge fifteen years in the making. 

 

A slow clap and a laugh startled the men. Mrs. Shimada was absolutely delighted. 

 

“Remind me to invite you over for tea one day, Mr. McCree. I think I like you!” she added, wiping tears of laughter from her slanted eyes. 

 

Hanzo’s nostrils flared in what was unmistakably anger. This one hadn’t changed, then, Jesse noticed, checking the fists and the vein at the temple.  _ Nope _ ,  _ still bordering on fainting when in a white hot blistering rage _ . 

 

“Come on, Hanzo… He’s a friend of Genji, he was even…  _ Yours _ for a while.” the dark woman said, rising and settling her hand softly on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Let’s help him. We don’t need to be blackmailed for that.” she added. 

 

Jesse looked at Masoka Shimada with a keen eye. If this was a regular marriage made of love, then he seemed to had been very well replaced. Playing along with the woman, he extended his hand to the Japanese man, a peace offering. 

 

Snorting like an angry bull, Hanzo defiantly looked at Jesse’s eyes. 

 

“I am going to regret this.” he sighed as he shook the American wizard’s hand like they used to do before Quidditch matches, back at school. 

 

Except his hand seemed to hurt even more than back in the day. 

 

*

**

*

 

They decided to change locations immediately. Jesse pocketed the remains of the cherrywood wand, hiding it on his person before Hanzo could do so himself. 

 

“We’ll exchange cherry for spruce. Wood for wood, if y’know what I mean.” he sassed the ex, winking at the furious Shimada. 

 

His wife’s hilarity had not abated. In fact it came back in full force after this particular joke. Jesse was starting to like her. Masoka. Where had he heard this name before?

 

They didn't change state since Jesse had already taken care of that. They decided to talk in a No-Maj breakfast restaurant a few hundred miles away. Settling at the most secluded table and surreptitiously casting privacy spells, Hanzo finally confessed. 

 

“Three days ago, I received a message. Or to be exact, I received the standard Dead Man’s Switch currently in use… Within  _ the family. _ ” Hanzo started. 

 

The waitress took their orders at that time. Jesse was a bit shocked to see that Masoka ordered the same as he. He wasn’t used to see anyone eating as much as he did. 

 

“It was from the head of the American branch of  _ the family _ …” Hanzo explained after the No-Maj left. “George. Typical wizarding Japanese diaspora, you would say. He took care of the handling of most goods.”

 

“Including wands.” Jesse muttered. 

 

“Yes… Including…  _ Baguettes. _ ” Hanzo confirmed, as the waitress came back with their drinks. 

 

Jesse took a moment to admire how expertly and the Shimada had dressed as typically non-magical folks both looking like legitimate Muggles  _ of completely opposite styles _ . 

 

Hanzo’s long blue trench coat was on his knees as he took his tall vanilla milkshake, revealing a white button up shirt and a blue vest, all very high class, with impeccably tailored navy trousers and matte designer shoes. His long hair was gathered in a ponytail attached with a simple golden ribbon gracefully tumbling down his nape. 

 

Masoka, however, was wearing a pair of black hammer pants with a green t-shirt and a pink bomber jacket over it. At her feet was a pair of shining black Doc Martens, she also wore pink creoles and a large pair of pink rimmed glasses. Her hair was up in a graceful Afro cut and her makeup was flashy and colourful. All in all, she made him remember the South African 2060’s fashion her mom had loved, but was really, to him, a glorified 1980’s revival. 

 

All in all, not matching couple in terms of styles, though he was curious to see Masoka in her wizarding robes. What kind of style would she wear? Traditional  _maijou_? Modern witch?  Hanzo was always very traditional, but stylish, pretty much like his No-Maj clothes. Was Masoka as eccentric as her Mugglewear suggested? 

 

“Why are you watching us so intently? Aren’t you hungry?” the woman said, gingerly. 

 

“Well, I was wondering if you guys weren’t pulling my leg or something. I didn’t expect Hanzo’s  _ family _ to allow someone like you near their precious heir.” Jesse said, thinking it was best to be as honest as possible. 

 

A sort of alarm passed through Masoka’s brown eyes and instantly, Hanzo’s hand was on hers. 

 

“It is a long story and one that is absolutely none of your business, McCree.” he snapped tersely. 

 

And protectively. 

 

Just like that, it seemed that all the mirth and cordiality they had enjoyed since meeting each other had been removed from the dinner and replaced with tense business voices. Hanzo, leaving his milkshake mostly untouched (he loved vanilla milkshakes, though...), continued to tell the journey of the cherrywood wand. 

 

“George had simple instructions for wand business. His shop had  _ regular _ video cameras and he sent me a picture of each buyer so I could commit them to memory.”

 

“Because wandmakers need to remember each and every wand they make and sell.” Jesse sighed. 

 

“Exactly.” Hanzo said. “Now… The Japanese tradition of wandmaking isn’t exactly the same, but just like you, I was trained in Europe, on British soil with the great Ollivander. I like knowing where my creations have gone. Even trash such as these...”

 

“Wait, dragon heartstring is trash?” Jesse asked. This was unbelievable to him. 

 

“In Japan, we use them all the time.” Hanzo explained. “We do not have unicorns and the only way to get phoenix feathers is to deal with the Chinese Forbidden Palace keeping the birds. I do not use them for... my less legitimate pursuits… Dragon heartstring it is. The Shimadas have good standard with the Hokkaido Dragon Reservation.”

 

Scratching the top of his head, Jesse thought long and hard about what Hanzo’s tale. 

 

“So you know who the buyer is, but you have no idea of their name anyway, since you only have that picture.” he sighed. 

 

“Actually, George’s Dead Man’s switch contained several informations.” Hanzo muttered, letting go of Masoka’s hand and stretching it palm opened. 

 

The men waited for the woman to move. After a few seconds during which she seemed to find her confidence back, she retrieved a paper from an inner pocket of her jacket. 

 

It took awhile for Jesse to realise that this was in fact a scrap of parchment. It looked extremely out of place on the hard light No-Maj table, the No-Maj sugar bowl, the No-Maj Maple Syrup bottle in shape of an actual maple and Masoka and Jesse’s plates full of pancakes drowned in hot melted butter and blackberry jam, respectively. 

 

Jesse was somehow aware that Hanzo had started to eat his bacon and eggs neatly. Masoka was looking at him and both of the Shimadas started to shake like leaves in the wind. 

 

A warm hand steadied him and Jesse realised that he was the one shivering. Which explained why he felt like he was in this old movie one of his older No-Maj cousins had tricked him into seeing one night when he was a young child. 

 

“I knew Americans were sensitive about their Scourers, but I’ve never seen one be affected as much as you…” Masoka commented, a small smirk on her lips. 

 

“It’s… Complicated.” Jesse managed to say through a constricted throat. “What does the Japanese mean?” he asked flatly, unsuccessfully deflecting the conversation. 

 

“ _Family business_.” Masoka answered. “And the name of the buyer. Actually, that’s the mangled Katakana below, the part that’s almost unreadable because of the blood.” she added nonchalantly. 

 

Jesse eyes narrowed on the kana. It had been a while, and he really didn’t know a lot of kanji, but the problem wasn’t fluency here: the blood coating it had made it almost unreadable to the point where only a thoroughly trained eye could make up the smudged symbols spelling the name. One that did not actively flee from anything Japanese for fifteen years.

 

“We have the name.” Hanzo muttered, looking at the American man in the eye. “If you tell us what you know of the Scourers, I promise this scum will meet their end.”

 

Jesse took a deep breath and started to eat his now cold pancakes. 

 

The rest of the meal was spent in silence as Jesse contemplated his options. One of them was definitely not possible. He couldn’t let Hanzo go on that wild goose chase. Even if he held the contraband wand, _l’arme du crime_ , he could come back with back up and kill him. Especially now that Jesse seemed to have unwittingly insulted his wife. A wife he was loyal to as part of _his_ _family_. 

 

Acutely aware of the softness of the felt beneath his fingers, Jesse put the Stetson back on and stood up, paid for their now eaten meals before exiting the restaurant immediately. 

 

The air was hot still. It was high noon. Jesse was thinking carefully. He had to find a way make sure Hanzo or his wife wouldn’t turn their wands on him. 

 

Because this Hanzo wasn’t the haughty but caring Slytherin student he fell in love with. He was a grown wizard, with a wife, a child, a duty to his family, his  _ mazoku _ . Jesse had never been a part of that. He would never be. 

 

“I’m not letting you run away with whatever you manage to make out of the clues I got.” he told Hanzo. 

 

Even with his eyes closed, he was always hyper aware of him, because that’s what happened when you were in the presence of your first love, no matter how many years had passed, no matter the rows and the tears because one is an Auror, one is the Heir of a powerful family of Dark Wizards. 

 

“I’ll stick to you like a leech and I won’t let go of you till my mother’s wand’s in my hands and the culprit in prison.” Jesse drawled, feeling his wand in his pocket. 

 

The magic sizzled beneath his fingers, cracking like the leaves of the sequoia trees had all those years ago. 

 

He could even imagine it was a game. Americans might favour Quodpot, but Hanzo and Jesse had been hanging on the whereabouts of the Snitch as much as those of the Quaffle. He could see it,  _ their ball _ , Pharah was dropping it from above and Jesse’s arm was taut, ready to throw, his eyes locked on the three goals… And their black haired Keeper. 

 

When Jesse turned around, Hanzo seemed alone in the alley next to the restaurant. He was as tense as he, as if he had felt the danger he had been in, or ready to stop these Quaffles. Still, his voice was unaffected and neutral. Fucking Occlumens. 

 

“I am sorry, but this part is non negotiable. Unfortunately, the culprit will have to struggle and succumb to the sustained injuries. Otherwise, I am not certain you can be safe from my wife.”

 

Jesse locked in on her too. If Hanzo was a tactician and a calculator as well as such an impenetrable wall, Mrs. Shimada seemed to be the one who struck from the shadows with the ferocity of a panther. In fact, he was only aware of her only when she had the tip of her own wand between his ribs. (She was good. Or was it him who simply couldn't let go of Hanzo?) 

 

“Why am I not dead already?” Jesse asked with a genuinely amused smirk. 

 

“I do not wish to kill wizards who’ve done nothing to me or my clan yet.” Hanzo said, his face still carefully neutral. 

 

_ A lie.  _

 

“You know something about Scourers. We only have the basics, the former bounty hunters who caused the death of hundreds of magic users, both local and migrants, in the name of justice when they first settled on the American continent...” Masoka added. “With that in mind, we’d rather not kidnap and then kill an innocent when we can have a willing ally.”

 

“I’m not willing, however.” Jesse noted. “I want the culprit in prison.”

 

“You could kill her yourself.” Hanzo pointed out. 

 

“I ain’t no murderer.” Jesse countered. 

 

“ _Really_?” Hanzo drawled, an eyebrow raised. 

 

_Low blow._ Jesse tried to keep the anger bottled up deep in him, but he winced all the same. Mental arts were never his forte. 

 

“Alright, Hanzo. You win. Let’s do this together. Just like old times.” Jesse purred with a wink. 

 

Masoka chuckled. Hanzo snorted. The couple made a show of adopting lax positions, hiding wands in pockets and sleeves, but the tension had not really gone and trust was hard to earn. 

 

Jesse McCree was on the wrong side of the law, now. Well, that hadn’t happened in a long, long time…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is something you find offensive in Masoka, please notify me IMMEDIATELY so I can nuke it from this story and my mind and, I hope, this world too.


	7. Then: Pumpkin Spice Latte part. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> careful for the unbetaed mess of gay stuff  
> Some angst  
> Some fluff  
> Some plot  
> tw: exams  
> It is ok if you scored below the maximum and you passed  
> Hell, it's ok if you didn't pass!

Hanzo looked at the letter stamped with the seal of the Ministry of Magic with a mix of disgust and fear.

 

“Why the long face, darlin?” a sweet voice asked behind him. 

 

How could Jesse stay so calm? Hanzo felt like all his nightmares had come true. The Dragon, restless was going to eat him whole. The results of seven years of Hogwarts education were staring at him accusingly.  _ You could have done better. You will be punished. _

 

Hanzo took a deep breath and cleared his mind, slowly going through everything that had happened last month with a detachment that he was surprised he could pull off.

 

The N.E.W.T.s had come and hit the seventh years hard. The Slytherin, still high on their victory the week-end prior, had gone completely mad, accompanied with their fellow O.W.L. students in fifth year. 

 

Hanzo had simply felt like he had completely lost his mind. He had spent ninety nine percent of his last three weeks in Hogwarts glued to textbooks, except the night before the Astronomy N.E.W.T. exam. This night, he spent with Winston, the only other student to have taken Astronomy, staring through their custom made telescopes for hours, hoping they would not malfunction the night of the actual exam. 

 

Hanzo had tried to organise himself thus: early mornings were for a short stolen kiss near the kitchens before breakfast. Breakfast was for studying. Satya and Amélie had volunteered to take care of the now hysteric mass of Slytherin students taking Ministry sanctioned exams. This implied a lot of toasts jammed in everyone’s mouths by force if necessary on De Sylvestre’s part and a lot of Satya threatening to tell Professor Wilhelm, who was pretty force feeding the students of his own House himself. For some reason, Professor Reyes was assisting the Hufflepuff Head of House every morning.

 

During the day, Jesse and Hanzo could be found in empty classrooms practicing wand movements. Of course, Jesse’s only way to cope with stress was kissing and then pestering Hanzo with questions about Golpalott’s Three Laws of Potion Making, on which he seemed to have been stuck on. Jesse had never been very good at Potions except when it came to antidotes, which was the subject of two out of three laws of renowned Potioneer Golpalott, so seeing him panick about it instead of trying to cram up more knowledge was extremely weird to the Slytherin. 

 

In the haze of his own exams panic, Hanzo barely acknowledged the Gryffindor’s apprehension and fear at taking the most important exams of their student lives and helped him study as well as he could, trying to rein in his own need for comfort within Jesse's strong arms. 

 

Seriously, how could one pass such important exams with as demanding a boyfriend as Jesse McCree? Apparently, no one could because…

 

_ Don’t panic, Hanzo. Continue the story. Unravel the thread and clear your mind. _

 

Then it had been exam time. Hanzo’s hands had been covered in ink, and his nose too, by the time he had finished his written Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, their last written exam on week two. Spying on Jesse who was a little bit ahead of him to his right, he had wondered how he had managed himself. 

 

They were both the top students in their class, it shouldn’t have been a problem. Hanzo had then stopped daydreaming about the morning’s kiss and struggled to find things he had yet to write on Inferi on his essay (which was now around sixty inches)

 

No, he hadn’t been worried about the Defence Against the Dark Arts. He knew about it.  _ Intimately _ even. 

 

However, he should have been worried. He should have known that even a N.E.W.T. exam would cover the basics. Hanzo had been so confident that he was the best that if he had been told a simple Boggart would be his downfall, he would have simply turned up his nose in the air and smirked at you,  _ because it was impossible _ .

 

Hanzo was happy this practical exam had been witnessed by no one else but the examiner, a very old and frail looking man who kept handkerchiefs and sweets in his pockets and seemed to know a few comforting words in Japanese. He had promised he’d make sure this wouldn’t affect his grade too much. After all, a Boggart might be a useless creature, but fear and stress didn’t mix well, right?

 

“Why don’t we do something more fun, do you know what the Patronus Spell is?” the examiner had asked. 

 

Hanzo had recited accurately, sniffing the tears back in, happy to go back to what was normally expected of an official exam instead of ridiculing himself in front of a Ministry of Magic officer. 

 

_ Oh sweet Merlin riding the Azure Dragon! He understood Japanese? Did he understand the Boggart?! _

 

“Well, after this incident, I want you to focus on your happiest memory and try to cast a Patronus for me. If you manage to get any result, I’ll see what I can do about that silly little Boggart, right Mr. Shimada-san?”

 

Hanzo had acquiesced. He already knew how to cast a Patronus charm. His father had been against it, but Mother had secretly taught her children. He was proud of the strong silver cloud he could produce. One could almost see angles and curves in it, fighting each other, as if it was trying really hard to become corporeal. 

 

Hanzo had focused, clearing his mind and enunciating the spell.  _ Expecto Patronum. _

 

He had tried every happy memory from his early childhood: the wonder of seeing the storm petrels coming for him for the first time, Genji confiding in him when they were just kids, Mother’s embrace, Father’s proud look when he brought home 13 O.W.L.s...

 

It had all went downhill from there. He couldn’t shake the Boggart’s vision. Everytime, he thought of his father, the silver cloud sputtered and died.

 

_ Empty eyes looking at the ceiling. Dead. Dead. Both of them. No.  _ I am proud of you, my son. You did your duty.

 

“Look, Mr Shimada-san, maybe we should stop here...”

 

“No!” Hanzo had cried out, trying to shake out the image the Boggart had conjured away. “One… one more try, please. It’s not… Normally like this.” he stuttered.  

 

Feeling a great deal of shame, Hanzo cleared his mind once more. The practice of course reminded him of his father again. With a cry of frustration, Hanzo finally decided to let all his barriers go down and thought of Jesse. Their first kiss.  _ The sandwich _ . 

 

_ Yes, think about the stupid sandwich and that stupid machine! Luck. I need more luck! _

 

“ _ Expecto Patronum _ !” he had yelled, his voice breaking. 

 

And then, his cloud came out of the tip of his wand. As usual, it was a blocky mass of silver goo, but there was something different about it. Hanzo’s eyes went wide as saucers as it suddenly uncoiled itself and started to weave across the room, the silvery blue blaze it left in its wake putting him in a trance. 

 

“Fascinating!” the examiner exclaimed, clapping loudly. “It is extremely rare for young wizards such as yourself to get a corporeal Patronus so soon, but for it to represent such and ancient, beautiful and noble magical creature is unheard of… You, young man, are destined to do great things.” he had added. “I’m afraid the Boggart is the biggest problem here, but I promise I will do my best… A Japanese Azure Dragon! I would give all the gold I have to see one...”

 

Hanzo thought of his mother’s family. They owned a Dragon Reserve in Hokkaido. There was a single Owatatsumi Egg there, that had not hatched in the centuries it had been in his family’s care. Would that count as an Azure Dragon to the man? Could Hanzo bribe the him with a picture? A visit?

 

No… That was stupid. He had done his best and he had to trust his Patronus was enough to forgive his blunder on the Boggart. 

 

It hadn’t been enough to get him the _Optimal_ he had been aiming for, but at least, he had an _E_. More than enough to pursue wandmaking, but…

 

Dating Jesse had made him change his mind. Hanzo  _ had _ been suited to a career in Magical Law Enforcement. Professor Lindhelm and Professor Morrison and Professor Reyes had been delighted to hear about this change of plans, as late as it came. Lindhelm had even commented on how it was good to see Hanzo finally stepping out of the dark path his father had set before him. Now, Hanzo wasn’t so sure he could escape it. 

 

First, because of the Boggart: to enter Auror Training, one had to have good grades in a lot of classes. However, the Defence Against the Dark Arts  _ Optimal _ was mandatory. 

 

However, what worried Hanzo the most, was what the Boggart _had shown up as_. 

 

One day, he would have to go back to Japan and take his father’s place. Jesse, especially if he was to become an Auror, could not follow. 

 

Hanzo would pursue wandmaking, it wasn’t a bad profession. It was one that would serve him in the long term. Wizards, especially in Europe, would always need wands and Asia lacked wandmakers of talent. 

 

Holding back a tear, Hanzo let himself be smothered by Jesse’s warm embrace. Solid as a rock, warm as a tree and... Soft as a Puffskein?

 

“You shaved?” Hanzo exclaimed, surprised, caressing the bare chin of his boyfriend, smiling. 

 

He looked gorgeous, less scruffy. He could get used to it. 

 

“Well…” Jesse answered. “We just finished opening the last box, all the furniture is in place… And, err, well, the… The bed is made and… Hmm… I thought we… We could celebrate.” he said, looking both happy and extremely nervous. 

 

Hanzo’s eyes widened. Anger welled up in his chest and he simply burst.  _ He…  _

 

“How can we celebrate?” he cried out, suddenly extremely nervous. “I… I can’t follow you into Auror Training because of that stupid…”

 

He hadn't exactly told Jesse of the Boggart. He simply said he had failed a question in the written exam. 

 

“That stupid grade!” Hanzo whine pitifully, shaking the offending piece of parchment bearing the seal of Hogwarts and that of the Ministry. 

 

“Hush, hon, hush. Now… It’s alright, we won’t be working together, but… You could go elsewhere in the Ministry. Or stick to that wandmaking thing you wanted. It ain’t a bad thing to do and you’ve wanted to do that since fifth year!”

 

Hanzo grunted in response. 

 

The only reason why Hanzo had wanted to pursue wandmaking was because of his father. Wands were not really popular in Japan unless they went abroad. They usually acquired them late when studying advanced foreign magics. Asia had a great history of the use of calligraphy, which meant people carried around charms, rice paper and ink everywhere. 

 

It had been the biggest part of his schooling in Mahoukotoro when he was a small child: learning to properly write and channel magic into the ink and the paper. He had liked the practice, it was soothing to infuse the paper and the kanji with the magic needed for it to become a spell. 

 

Then, he had started Hogwarts and Hanzo had wanted to study wandmaking because Shimada Noboru would have accepted his wife’s proposition if sending his children abroad didn’t bring an edge to the Shimada- _mazoku_. And Europeans kept their wandlore jealously. 

 

Now Hanzo was stuck. Shivering, he tried to shove Jesse away, but he simply moved his hand to his hair, knowing it was his weak point. 

 

Hanzo’s mind went back to the Boggart for a second. The harsh Japanese words, the round glasses of the Old Dragon gleaming green. Genji's painted, empty eyes staring at the ground in defeat, lips red and pursed.   _Jesse's lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling_. 

 

The Slytherin sunk back into Jesse’s embrace, letting his boyfriend kiss the top of his head, a gesture Hanzo was now addicted to. It tingled at the top then made its way everywhere, making him feel like he was a melting snowman. 

 

He had always thought their first time together would be romantic and soft. However, Hanzo couldn’t help but notice how desperate it felt to be joined together and yet so far away, rutting hard into the slicked up hands and holes, hands and mouths demanding, hot breath so deliciously mingled in what felt like the last time... 

 

Jesse fell asleep quickly. Hanzo stayed awake all night, listening to his heartbeat. 

 

This day, Hanzo realised he was in love with Jesse McCree. 

 

The thought was both so simple and so frightening, it became the source of the many sleepless nights spent alone in the dark, wondering if they ever had a chance. 


	8. Now: Good Times, Right? Part. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn that wizards are terrible at driving, especially when they haven't been in touch with the Muggle world or even just a car for 15 years. 
> 
> **WARNING: No, I didn't mean to imply that Hanzo can't drive because he's Asian, he can't drive because he's a _wizard_ who didn't drive in fifteen years because his wife controls his country's magical transports and hands him free portkeys.** Which is also how they made it so fast to Jesse's hotel.

Jesse learned that Masoka was the Head of the Japanese Company of Transports For the Magical, a private contractor the Japanese Magical Authority had put in charge of every kind of transportation from broom rental to Apparition Licenses and Portkey registration.  

It explained why Hanzo was so damn out of practice when it came to driving a car. Or was it because he had last drove on British roads? Jesse had never asked which side Japanese Muggle drove on. He had never needed to drive himself. Hanzo had a license because it was easier as Ollivander's apprentice back then. 

Hanzo was driving slowly, stopping quite often to check signs and squinted his eyes to the point where Jesse couldn't tell anymore if they were open or closed. Masoka was sighing behind him.  

 

"It would be easier if you simply put your glasses on, Hanzo." 

 

"I'm concentrating." Hanzo stubbornly answered, looking like he wanted to scratch his eyeballs out of their sockets (Or maybe it was his wife he wanted to enucleate?).  

Masoka simply extended her arm, waving the hand holding the offending accessory, elegant looking rectangular glasses with a simple silver rim. When Hanzo didn't move, his knuckles going white from their tight hold on the wheel, Jesse grabbed them and put them within the stubborn man's line of sight on the dashboard.  

Since the place they were going to was both unfamiliar and probably crawling with No-Majs, they were doing it the Muggle way.  

It wasn't really far anyway, though Jesse would really like Hanzo to be less stubborn and wear the damn glasses already.  

 

"Masoka, you know how to drive?" He asked the woman in the back.  

 

"Yes." She said. "But Hanzo won't let me. First, because I don’t have a proper license and second, because he is the one who rented the car and he's behind the wheel now, so he won’t let go of it... You should know that, Jesse"

"I didn't want to presume." Jesse simply said, flatly. "It's been a long time after all." 

 

Hanzo grunted and put the glasses on, at last, a repressed smile born of embarrassment, certainly, stretching his lips despite himself. 

 

For some reason, the only moment Jesse had ever seen Hanzo close to blushing had been in the middle of sex. They had not become red, but rather a dusky colour matching his hardened nipples. 

 

Jesse took a deep breath, trying not to feel too acutely Hanzo's presence in the driver seat next to him and hoping Masoka hadn't remarked anything either. The driving definitely became smoother when he didn't spend a full minute to read the signs on the fancy GPS. Muggles had truly stepped up their game, he barely recognised the thing as one.

 

"What is bothering you?" Masoka asked. "You can talk if you like. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that we totally understand your loss and grief." She added as if she hadn't been ready to kill him three hours ago. 

 

Jesse didn't turn around. He just shrugged. He couldn't think of his parents just now, even if the idea helped him reign in his other train of thoughts, he was pretty sure there were more tears to shed and he just couldn't do so in front of anyone. Especially Hanzo. 

 

"What were your parents like, Mrs Shimada?"  

 

"They were the most loving parents." Masoka said fondly, letting him change the subject. "My father was a Muggle, actually. He was a silver medalist in the 2048 Olympics." 

 

"Oh!" Jesse exclaimed. "That's interesting. What was he doing?" 

 

"Four hundred meters butterfly and back crawling. I picked up his passion for swimming until the Omnic Crisis, I suppose you remember that? He was one of the casualties of South Africa." She ended on a soft note. "So my mother brought me, her last surviving child, back to her hometown of Hanamura, in Japan. She succumbed to a very bad case of Dragon Pox, but she was eleven o', so it was expected..." 

 

"I am sorry for your loss as well, Masoka." Jesse said, tipping the Stetson from his old habit to do the same with his wizard hat. However, he was not facing her.  

 

This wasn't a reason to be jealous. He couldn't be jealous about the way her mother died, eleven hundred and some years old, a normal age for a witch to pass away in peace.    

 

He chose to remember the Crisis she mentioned. His parents had already been separated then, so he remembered spending most of it in his mother's magical home with _abuelo_ and _shiwoyé_. He did remember how drawn his father's features had looked then. When the big summer holidays came (or the McCree Christmas Dinner) and it was time for Jesse to spend some time with his No-Maj relatives, he had watched the news from the corner of his eye while playing games with his cousins. The adults were nervous and they unwittingly communicated the feeling to the kids, who learned more than they should in a matter of days and started playing a game of Cat and Mouse and calling the one who was it _the_ _Omnic_.  

 

Thirty years later, seeing the sign with the words _Welcome to Pima County_ brought lots of memories that started to make a lot damn more sense.  

 

_ Deadlock: Beware of Scourers.  _

 

Jesse didn't remember much of his grandparents on his father's side, just vice like grips on his arms when he did things wrong, lots of religious stuff.  

 

Daniel McCree still went to church. In fact, he had dragged Jesse every time he could, though less so when he became an adult. He insisted he shook hands with everyone and absolutely didn't do any magic.

 

The parishioners had talked while they thought the kids couldn't hear, as if the huge white building dedicated to God didn't carry voices over to ears that were below the age of eighteen. Church was a place of gossip and bad mouthing and Daniel's ex-wife was thought to be a gold digger, a good to nothing undocumented Latina who probably slept with someone to pass the crumbling wall that had been erected between Mexico and the States way before Crisis, when a crazy No-Maj American President had wanted to be looking like he was doing something, like every politician. 

 

Jesse realised he had been trying to solve the problem the wrong way. The question was:  _How had Daniel McCree married a witch?_ As opposed to _how did he know of Scourers?_

 

After _Deadlock Gorge_ , Jesse didn't have anymore clue to give and the couple, they could easily get rid of him. It was in his interest too. A clue would bring him closer to his mama's wand and a proper wizarding funeral. He'd have to play it well, play it right. 

_Outplay Hanzo Shimada._ Jesse repressed a chuckle. The only time it had happened had been on a Quidditch pitch and they were sixteen!  

Hanzo might have been driving like an old lady now, compared to the long smooth rides they used to make when they were young and Jesse wanted to give him a proper taste of the Muggle world (one he wasn't too afraid of, himself...), but parking was as brief an affair as it had been twenty years ago, when they had made that little Brighton seaside trip. Good times.

 

"You ain't driving around much anymore, right?" Jesse commented, now that there wasn't any risk of Hanzo driving them into a ditch out of pure spite. 

 

Hanzo's eyes were cold dark pits and Jesse fished in the trunk of the rental car for his belongings to avoid it.  

 

The Mao of the Shimada-mazoku was definitely going to kill him when it was over, he thought.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback of any kind is always appreciated


	9. Then: Pumpkin Spice Latte part. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this night because I'm generous like that.
> 
> _Ana giving candy away emote_

When Hanzo woke up, it was to the strong smell of reheated pumpkin pie. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he opened them and saw, in place of Jesse, a platter of all the food he had prepared the previous day, warm and making him long for a bite. 

 

“Hey. Sorry for falling asleep on you, yesterday.” He heard Jesse say. 

 

He was at the door of their tiny bedroom holding a glass of pumpkin juice and a big mug of a steaming concoction that smelled quite good. 

 

“It’s alright, you probably had a rough few weeks.” Hanzo started, trying to shake the sleep from his body but yawning anyway. 

 

“Well, I did have few precious sleep time. Reminded me of my dad’s stories of being in the army…”

 

“Being in the army? Are the stories truly alike?” Hanzo asked, confused.

 

“Oh yeah!” Jesse exclaimed. “We had this very strict instructor called Auror Briggs. He had this tone of voice, no nonsense like, and he was giving orders all the time.” he started to recount. “Stand straighter, Seegolam! And you McCree! Quicker on the draw! Those aren’t dummies, those are Dark Wizards waiting to kill someone’s mummy. You want to go back to your mummy, Zaryanova?” he started to imitate, taking an overly exaggerated Brummie accent. 

 

“Zaryanova? _The Buff Hufflepuff is in Auror Training_?” Hanzo asked, wondering why he was so surprised. Aleksandra had never hidden her intentions to be a defender of the innocent. However, she had always trailed behind the couple in class, her strength being her polyvalence and peak physical condition. Mei had told Hanzo that the young Russian woman had scored straight O’s in Charms and Transfiguration. 

 

“Yeah. She studied hard for the Defence Against the Dark Arts class.” Jesse said. “But she made it, she had the _O_ and everythin’...” he added a bit sheepishly, carefully setting the glass and the mug on the tray. 

 

He thought Hanzo’s own result was a sore point for him still. Good, Hanzo thought, keeping his face as neutral as he could when the memory of the Boggart played once again in his mind. 

 

Seeing Jesse, alive, his skin just as tan and bright as ever, his brown eyes warm and full of love, helped chase the image of the corpse the Boggart had created. Giving into the urge to kiss his boyfriend, he reveled in the feeling of Jesse melting and almost knocking the tray full of food upside down. 

 

“Come on, let’s eat before we start foolin’ around!” the Auror in training chuckled. 

 

“Yes, let us not let my cooking go to waste…” the apprentice wandmaker quipped, a smile on his lips, grabbing a fork. 

 

“Hey! I made you some spiced latte, I contributed!” Jesse harrumphed.

 

“You made me what?” Hanzo asked. 

 

“Pumpkin Spice Latte.” Jesse repeated. “It’s my favourite beverage. In Britain it seems only Muggles make it. I was quite surprised to hear that, since you know, wizards and pumpkins… Anyway, it’s not as good as my Mama’s, even if I used my Mama’s recipe to make yours! It’s in the mug, here, all for you.” he said, a smile on his lips and the mug presented with pride and eagerness.

 

Hanzo’s eyes went back to the steaming mug. It did smell very good, he decided as he munched on the pumpkin pie.

 

“You didn’t have to.” he whispered. “I mean… You spent three weeks in whatever hole they hid you, while I sat on my ass doing Arithmancy equations and chopping wood...” he continued to ramble, feeling quite ashamed now to have been the one who woke up late and had to be prepared breakfast to, when it was supposed to be the other way around. 

 

“Hey, Hanzo, love!” Jesse said. 

 

Hanzo snapped. Shocked. 

 

_ Love.  _

“We’re in this together. We’re celebrating Halloween together. That means that if I want to use a bloody heating spell on your cooking and take five minutes to whip you up a pumpkin spice latte, I’m going to bloody well do it because… Because we’re together. Right?”

 

Jesse waited until Hanzo met his eyes and nodded before he continued. 

 

“Now, I slept fine, like a baby. How about you taste that latte and tell me what sweet dreams you were having, hmm?” 

 

Jesse softly put both of Hanzo’s hands around the mug. 

 

It was still hot. The aroma tickled Hanzo’s nostrils. The soft touch of Jesse’s hands was even warmer. 

 

 _Love. He called me Love._ The word made him so giddy he felt like flying without a broom. 

 

Hanzo took a careful sip of the scalding beverage. It was creamy and sugary on top. He liked it quite enough. There was cloves and cinnamon, his favourite spices in generous doses and a hint of ginger. 

 

As he swallowed, the liquid hit the back of his mouth and spread on his whole palate. Hanzo froze and automatically added another layer of protections around his mind. 

 

“Hanzo?” he heard Jesse say through the haze. 

 

Trying to clean his mouth would not be a silent endeavour so Hanzo opted for honesty. 

 

“Jesse. Do you remember what my favourite beverage is?”

 

“Yes, that roasted green tea your mum sends you.” Jesse answered. “But that’s not really a proper holiday drink, so…”

 

“Jesse. I’m… There is coffee in this.” Hanzo explained, going through his inventory of charms and curses that could remove one’s sense of taste and smell. “A lot of it.” he winced. 

 

That was it, he was going to puke, he could feel his stomach roiling. 

 

“I’m so sorry babe.” he heard Jesse mutter as he scrambled to find the ginger bread and spread generous spoonfuls of pumpkin and chestnut jam on a slice and handing it to his gagging lover. “Here, wash the taste.”

 

Hanzo ignored him for now and grabbed his glass of pumpkin juice instead. 

 

“Why are you people calling this pumpkin spice anyway if there isn’t any pumpkin in it?” Hanzo managed to say when the urge to dishonour his boyfriend’s gift disappeared.

 

He gave Jesse the rest of the mug in exchange for the ginger bread that was so covered in jam it stuck to his fingers. 

 

“Well, I don’t know… But I know it’s from a European recipe of whatever goes into ginger bread anyway. It fits the holiday season.” Jesse said, drinking his concoction in appreciative sips. 

 

“Well, if there’s a version without coffee, you’re welcome to prepare some at Christmas.” Hanzo said, without thinking. 

 

However Jesse’s smile quashed the idle thought of his parents requiring he spent the European holiday of Yule with them in Japan. It would be ridiculous to do so now after seven years of having him stay at Hogwarts with Genji. 

 

“Well… It’s funny you’re mentioning Christmas…” Jesse chuckled nervously. 

 

Hanzo did not like this chuckle at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to write the next two chapters and I'm still unhappy about them  
> So don't expect me too soon


	10. Now: Good Times, Right? Part. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed mess of angst #sorrynotsorry

The message only said _Deadlock: Beware of Scourers_.  

 

Jesse wished he'd have written  _Have fun in Disneyworld, Orlando, FL_ because the Auror had no clue of what he was doing. They had already checked in at a better hotel than the one the Japanese couple had found him in. Masoka paid with a smile on her lips and a piece of enchanted plastic, fooling the No-Maj clerk. Hanzo had ordered, ironically, take away sushi that had Masoka frown and Hanzo eat quickly, around the table in their spacious room. Jesse stretched his legs on the bunk bed next the double bed in which Hanzo and Masoka shook the drowsiness the long ride and the heat of the desert had.  

And while they feigned sleep, Jesse McCree was thinking. 

 

Deadlock Gorge was quite close to where his grandparents lived. He didn’t keep much contact with them, but his uncle and aunts might still be in Three Points, taking care of the family ranch with their own children, probably now having their own lives and jobs… Maybe kids of their own. 

 

Now, that would make Jessica and Hoyt, his least favourite cousins, around forty-two and three now, he thought idly. Jesse sighed. He guessed he’d have to check the old fashioned way. 

 

In the privacy of the room’s lavatory, he silently applied Cloth Freshening Spells to his No-Maj attire before stepping into the shower himself and quickly clearing his head with lukewarm water. Putting back the Stetson on his head felt like a terrible thing to do afterwards. Here he was, looking like death in a flannel shirt, despite the wash. 

 

When he opened the door to get back to his bunk, he was startled to see Hanzo waiting behind it. 

 

The Japanese man entered the room and closed the door.  There was no space, no exit, Jesse felt trapped. 

 

“If you wanted to join me, you’re a bit late, Hanzo.” he drawled, the pickup line was as strong as the incantation for a Shield Charm. 

 

“You have no idea what you’re doing and it shows.” Hanzo countered. 

 

Like a book, as always. 

 

“Why am I not dead, then?”

 

“Because Masoka still believes we can avenge George and it is primordial, especially after your stupid question at the pancake place, that you do not upset her.” Hanzo said. “I can’t stop her if she decides to go after you. You do not want to see how explosive it is to mix dragon and Zulu warrior blood...”

 

Jesse frowned. Hanzo cared for Masoka that was sure, and he had an inkling that she was a skilled and powerful witch. However, something didn't sit right, because cornering someone in a bathroom was very unlike Hanzo. 

 

“Please, tell me what you are unsure of.” Hanzo asked, w ith his arms crossed so close to his chest, his hands beneath his armpits and elbows so close to his body…

 

“Are you begging me, right now, Hanzo?” Jesse asked, hardly believing it. 

 

“I am not.”

 

“Are too.”

 

“Am not!... This… We don’t have a lot of time while she sleeps!” Hanzo snarled, his hands flying in frustration, almost hitting Jesse’s nose in the way. 

 

“Alright.” Jesse said. “She pregnant or something? Stress bad for the baby?”

 

“Masoka is unable to carry a child.” Hanzo tersely answered.

 

“Fair enough.” Jesse acknowledged. It was none of his business anyway. “I… Used to come around here. As a kid. Christmas, Easter and the summer hols. Haven't been here since I graduated, though.” he finally explained. 

 

“You have family there.” Hanzo guessed. 

 

“Yeah… I’m starting to think my… Daniel McCree was a Scourer.” 

 

“It can’t be, he married a witch and kept civil contact with her long after their divorce for the sake of a magical child… _You_.” Hanzo whispered with his eyes to the floor and a hand scratching his chin. (Disbelief).

 

“Think about it. He was really spooked about magic. You saw some of it when he visited, but he was even more insistent than my mother about the necessity to hide from the No-Majs, even family. I thought…” Jesse tried to say, but lacked the eloquence. 

 

“I thought this was Muggle Church bullshit, but what if it was just a front? What if… I truly am the first wizard to survive their Scourer family in… What? Four? Five centuries?”

 

“Then we must interrogate your family.” Hanzo said.

 

“We can’t.” Jesse said, dejectedly, letting himself fall against the sink. The porcelain was cool to the touch. “If we mention magic, we’re dead.”

 

“We’re wizards.” Hanzo scoffed. 

 

“Scourers aren’t just dangerous because they know and hate us.” Jesse countered. “They developed countermeasures. They rigged their electrical appliances to act like Sneakoscopes, they know how to fight wizards, they have kits in their houses for every member of the family. They’re sneaky, they present themselves as clueless, but they...”

 

Jesse had had one back in Three Points. Granddaddy McCree had promised to show him how to use it once he was big enough, but the wizard had gone to Hogwarts instead and forgotten all of it. This was a mess. 

 

“Then we’ll have to act the perfect No-Majs looking out for their bereaved No-Maj friend.” Hanzo said. 

 

“Look, Hanzo, I saw how you were driving, I can tell you haven’t had contact with Muggles since you left Britain, your driving was all choppy when it used to be smooth, you had trouble with the new navigation systems they came up with, I mean, even I knew that…”

 

“Then I won’t let them see me drive.” Hanzo countered, Jesse could hear his accent disappear back under the British polish from their days at school. “Or I’ll just let them think it’s because I’m Asian, at least that racist rubbish will work in our favour for once.”

 

Jesse looked at him, dumbfounded. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Hanzo’s own amused smile was definitely worth it. 

 

It felt both strange and liberating. Reminiscing that particularly stupid argument with that old Muggle driver on their way back from Brighton, one that had Jesse absolutely scandalised and Hanzo extremely confused...

 

"We had a good time, right." Jesse chuckled as laughter subsided.  

 

Hanzo's face was open and Jesse had no trouble reading this expression ( _Content, hope, happiness_ ), even if his face had changed in fifteen years. For second, Jesse felt as if the wandmaker was about to fall into his arms and settle his face in the crook of his neck.  

He could see it in his eyes, the desire. He was reminiscing too.  

 

"Yes." Hanzo whispered, his voice husky and making Jesse's skin cover in goosebumps. "A good time." 

 

Jesse had nowhere to flee Hanzo's kiss, so he simply turned his head when the other man's nose touched his.   _No, not like this..._

 

"I... Your wife..." 

 

"Would you like to ask for her permission first?" Hanzo asked, his right eyebrow raised ( _genuine question)_. 

 

"No, I'd like my boyfriend back." Jesse spat, a tad harsher than he intended. "And put those Occlumency shields back down. It's rude."

 

Hanzo had been closing his mind, looking as if an invisible veil had been sliding on his face. However, Jesse’s comment shattered all of it and for the first time, Jesse saw the face Hanzo made when he was shocked and afraid.  

 

"You... You knew? All this time?" he stepped back.  

 

"I knew you better than anyone else." Jesse said, feeling the air become colder.  

 

Hanzo opened the door and stepped away, closing it back behind him, leaving Jesse full of cold, bitter regret. 

 

Jesse could hear Masoka's voice speaking in Japanese. He heard her call their child's name ( _Ryuuko, was it? Was that a boy or a girl name?_ ) and talk about something that sounded like homework, storm petrels and u _ncle Genji,_ but he was too unfamiliar with her accent to make out every word. 

Hanzo started to talk too. Before he could hear more than a greeting, Jesse drew his wand and muttered a Muffliato on the door.  

 

Because he was pretty sure hearing him cooing in Japanese about how well behaved his child was was going to make him cry again.

 

This roller coaster of emotions was starting to become a real problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a terrible person  
> Also I'm going to be a bit busy and I might stop updating for a while


	11. Then: Pumpkin Spice Latte part. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, I'm sorry, this is the apology  
> Some angst but what is the first family Christmas Dinner you're hosting without some angst?

“ _Smile, Hanzo!_ ” Genji said, punching his brother’s shoulder. 

 

Hanzo didn’t dignify his brother with a response of any kind, straightening the collar of his yellow dress robe and using his wand to try and remove the last stain from his elbow on which he had fallen the day of his induction into the _Most Esteemed and Outstanding Wandmakers Society_ with Ollivander last week. He was pretty sure it was De Sylvestre. Lacroix now. Amélie Lacroix. Hanzo sighed. She wasn’t even a wandmaker, what had she been doing there? Representing the money the Society ran on, most probably. 

 

“ _It’s your future in laws coming all the way from the United States of America, Hanzo. Smile!_ ” Genji ordered, not bothering to put any kind of order into the green bangs falling into his eyes. 

 

“ _I know. Shut up!_ ”

 

“I hear Japanese from the bathroom! That means you’re ready, boys!”

 

“ _Remember_.” Genji whispered as the brothers were exiting the tiny bathroom. “ _It is the defining moment of your relationship. According to Gemma S…_ ”

 

“ _I don’t care about Gemma_ bloody _Sterling!_ _Her column is trash and she’s a shame to the profession of journalist!_ ” Hanzo snapped, tension simply needing an outlet and finding that Genji was way too amused about this. 

 

“Wow… You put English in your Japanese, I made you extra mad.” Genji chuckled before leaving Hanzo in the bathroom to sit at his table.

 

Jesse hollered and Hanzo simply hurried back to their little living room, crowded with the huge table Jesse and Hanzo had chosen at _Parkinson’s Magical Furnishings_ for the thrifty sum of five golden Galleons. 

 

Hanzo loved this table. They chose it together. It was paid with money they had earned, rather than the allowance Hanzo was sent and helped plug the holes made by International Floo calls, or those days where they simply couldn't be bothered and spent their few common rest days lazying about together with a different kind of takeaways, most of the time, Muggle. Also, Jesse’s new broom because for some reason, he had lost his Firebolt. 

 

Today, they had made it as traditionally British as they could, though there was that Pumpkin Spice Latte made in huge batches again. For some reason, Genji couldn't help but drink most of it before Mrs Jimenez and Mr McCree even arrived, forcing Jesse to brew a whole new batch of the stuff.

 

“Oh, it’s my recipe.” Mrs Jimenez was cooing when Hanzo arrived. 

 

Hanzo carefully put his arms behind his back, hoping the stain wasn’t visible and watched his boyfriend's parents smother Jesse under a love that made Hanzo feel awkward. 

 

Mrs Jimenez was pinching her son’s cheeks and telling him how lean and muscular he had gotten. (Hanzo knew it, he had seen the transformation from awkward, yet fit, teenager to man-and-defender-of-the-innocent-with-a-six-pack-you’d-sell-your-soul-for first hand).

Mr McCree too had his arm around his son’s shoulders. They were of a height and both men had the same cocky smile as they joked and bantered about _cowboys_ , whatever that was. 

 

“Oh, the brothers are here.” Mr McCree said. “I guess we can eat this wonderful feast then.” 

 

His accent was reminiscent of Jesse’s. Most Hogwarts alumni lost their accents over the years, but it seemed like Jesse couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Which made his speech sound jarring when he used British slang. Hanzo had made sure he’d lost his. He thought it very embarrassing, especially the “r-thing” Jesse insisted was really cute. Hanzo thought it was simply ridiculous. 

 

Genji gave Hanzo a last pat in the back before he settled at his seat at the table. 

 

How he had agonised over seating plans, despite having only three guests. Jesse, upon finding his boyfriend drawing up complicated Arithmantic diagrams based on what he knew of Mrs Jimenez wand, Genji’s O.W.L.s results and the position of the stars on the day Mr McCree was born fifty years ago, tore every diagram Hanzo had made from his hands, threw them in the fire and simply wrote names on papers he then seemingly set at random, completely ruining it all. They then had a terrible row about family reunions on holidays in Wizarding Japan and something about _“Is that what you call not worrying?”_.

 

So when Hanzo sat between Mrs Jimenez and Mr McCree, he shot a deadly glare at his boyfriend who simply answered with a big smile and a “Try Hanzo’s cranberry sauce, I swear to Merlin, this man should open his own restaurant.”

 

It appeared Mr McCree was just as boisterous as his son. 

 

“Hehe!” he chuckles. “My Jesse’s right, he found the perfect other half!” 

 

The way he patted down Hanzo’s back in congratulation was truly unbearable and not only because of the rattling of his spine under the assault. Was this a ploy? Was he truly enjoying Hanzo’s cooking? Or was he just being polite and trying to show he was a supportive father to Jesse?

 

“Oh and the turkey is cooked so well… You have a talent, dear.” Mrs Jimenez added. “What is it you’re doing for a living, already?” she asked. 

 

“I am… Hmm…”

 

Hanzo remembered that Jesse said his father was sometimes spooked when talking about magic in more than vague terms acknowledging its existence, but he couldn’t get out of this one. Mrs Jimenez had asked and Mr McCree agreed to have a meal with four other magically able people, including his son, so this was entirely his fault and not Hanzo’s.

 

“I am the apprentice of Mr. Garrick Ollivander, third of his name to inherit the most esteemed business of his ancestors.” he managed to say. 

 

“Ollivander, yes! The British wandmaker!” Mrs Jimenez exclaimed. “He’s related to that old man, in those narrated biographies by that Rowling woman...”

 

“Yes, Mr. Ollivander’s father sold Harry Potter and many a young child of his generation their wands. They are the best in Great Britain and certainly in Europe.” Hanzo continued. 

 

“So… You read these books, Hanzo? Is that why you’ve come to Britain? Seems like a long way to travel to get to school…” Mr McCree asked in turn. 

 

Hanzo didn’t really know what to say, it was a blessing when Genji answered in his stead. 

 

“Absolutely! I loved the Harry Potter books, so I had Hanzo read them and then we pestered our parents until they gave in.” he told the Muggle man. “There is a magical school in Japan, though, but only Hanzo went when he was little.”

 

“Oh, I heard of them, they’re the only magical school with a day school for children under eleven, is that right?” Mrs Jimenez said. 

 

“Yes.” Hanzo added: “However, kids under eleven do not stay at the castle. We are brought in in the morning and back to our homes on the wings of Storm-Petrels.” 

 

“What fascinating creatures. I’ve always wanted to see one.” Mrs Jimenez continued with a fake smile. 

 

Hanzo followed her gaze and found a pale Mr. McCree at the receiving end of it. He was being used. Judging by Jesse’s sombre expression, he didn’t like it much when his mother made her ex-husband squirm like that. 

 

“And you, Mr. McCree, what are you doing for a living?” Hanzo asked in turn, ignoring Mrs Jimenez’s frown and focusing on…

 

Hmmm. He couldn’t really call him father in law.  _Not yet._

 

“Well, I’m selling car insurance. You know what a car is?” Mr McCree asked, hesitantly. 

 

“Yes. I have my license. It is a useful mean of transportation when one wants to be discrete or simply enjoy the view while still being protected from the elements.” Hanzo answered with a smile. 

 

“That’s what I always said!” Daniel McCree said with a huge smile. “Now, what sort of car do you own?”

 

“Well, since we don’t use them to go to work, we’re driving rental vehicles.” Hanzo explained. “but my employer uses a Ford from the 2010’s. I’m trying to convince him to purchase a small truck or a van, one of the newer models. The vehicle does not fit the activity we use it for. Mostly the transport of supplies such as wood or… Animal... Pelts.” he saved it. 

Mrs Jimenez snorted in her latte at the ridiculous notion that animal pelts went into the fabrication of modern wands. However,  Hanzo couldn’t describe better the miles of unicorn hair he had put in the trunk of the old and battered Ford. Of course, they couldn’t shrink anything that would become a tool for channeling magic, it was a recipe for disaster! 

 

_ Jesse looks so happy _ , Hanzo thought as he listened to Daniel McCree waxing on the wonders of utility vehicles. The complicated talk about the Muggle tools he, in fact, knew too few about was worth it, just for that. And the gathering of arguments to convince old Ollivander to change the old failing Ford. 

 

Genji was deep in an animated discussion with Mrs Jimenez about witches, apparently, and Jesse was taking care of refilling their plates and topping up their glasses whenever he found them empty of latte for Genji and Mrs Jimenez or wine for Mr McCree and Hanzo. He had to admit that this Muggle wine from France wasn’t too shabby. 

 

“You, little Hanzo, are a keeper!” Daniel McCree declared as the evening went on, his cheeks a bit red, his hand heavy on Hanzo’s shoulder as the dessert, a treacle tart of his making, was wolfed down with many a compliment thrown his way already. 

 

His own belly full, Hanzo tried to not feel embarrassed, but it was hard. Mrs Jimenez, Jesse and Genji were on the couch and turned around to listen to the Muggle. It was obvious that he had drunk one too many glass of wine. Hanzo wondered if they’d have to accompany him to Charing Cross Road to call a cab...

 

“He cooks and he makes wands for wizards, that’s important work! Wands are like as important as a smartphone! Yeah, that’s important work… And he can act No-Maj like me, I saw your little half-truths, sonny, you can act normal, that’s good… Maybe even normal enough to meet Granny McCree...”

 

“There is no need…” Hanzo started, trying to repress this damn embarrassed smile. 

 

“I mean it!” Daniel McCree interrupted. “Well, prejudiced old me sometimes, well… But you’re cooking and working, you’re making him smile like he never did, even as a boy... I swear to God,  _ I never saw my little Jesse shine so bright _ !”

 

It felt like everyone was hanging on the Muggle’s every word. The air was thick and Hanzo felt like he was about to choke on it if he breathed. 

 

“In the end, that’s what matters… Jesse being happy, with you. Best boyfriend ever, to be honest…” Mr McCree finished, dabbing the corner of his eye with his own embroidered handkerchief and chugging the last of his wine. 

 

Then, the moment was over: 

 

“Hey! Jesse! Maybe I can give you away at your wedding, son, when is it?” The American man in a Stetson bellowed, sitting up to put his hat on Jesse’s head and giving him a strong pat on back.

 

“Dad! We didn’t talk about it yet, we’ve been dating for less than a year…”

 

Hanzo excused himself. He didn't remember exactly what he said. Something about needing to go to the loo, that was for sure, because he was headed there. He wasn't certain how long it took him to evacuate the first few tears.   

_ Happiness _ . Jesse's parents were all worried about Jesse's happiness, first and foremost.  

 

He even felt their jabs to each other lessen when Jesse's mood had warned them that they were being rude at their Christmas dinner. 

 

They loved their son. Loved him for who he was, no matter if he was a gay wizard, something unfamiliar to the Muggle father, or if he loved his old man, something his mother seems to not be able to do anymore.  

They still came together, ringing the doorbell at the same time, bearing gifts, even one for Genji. Aside from the awkward conversation about magic, they had not fought.   

 

Mr McCree was ok with having a gay son and approved of Hanzo.  _ If only he knew. If only he knew. _

 

Hanzo sniffed and heard the door of the loo click behind him. Looking in the mirror, he saw Mrs Jimenez enter.  

 

"I'm sorry, I knocked, but you weren't answering, sweetie." she said, her voice soft and sweet as dulce de leche.  

"I am fine, Mrs Jimenez." Hanzo assured her, his embarrassed smile stretching his lips painfully.  

Mrs Jimenez sighed but said nothing. Hanzo let her fuss over him, straightening the collar of his robe, she whispered a word, pointing the tip of her wand to his stained elbow, making the fabric shine and return to its original colour, not a thread out of place.  

 

"You're beautiful,  sweetie ." she said with a huge motherly smile, rearranging his collar.  

It reminded Hanzo of Shimada Ayako, back when she was still a bubbly, smiling woman who would have given the world for her children. Now, her constant confused expression, her stuttering, especially when they were talking to or about Genji, turned her into a frail thing, a shadow of her former self who dared not call her own child by his true name lest she was heard by the wrong ears.  

 

Mother did not give such warm and liberating embraces anymore.  

 

Hanzo cried some more in Mrs Jimenez' green robe. She hushed him, whispered a song that made Hanzo think that he should definitely learn Spanish. 

 

"Do you feel better now,  _ brujito _ ?" Mrs Jimenez asked.  

 

Hanzo nodded as Mrs Jimenez dried his tears with a wet towel with vigor. She took both his cheeks and pinched them, which felt more affectionate than it had the right to be.  

 

"I don't agree much with Jesse's father anymore, but this time he's right. You're a good man and you're good for Jesse. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise." she added before leaving the room.  

 

When Hanzo and Jesse opened his parents' gift, both wept in joy. Jesse jumped from the couch to hug both his parents. 

 

The beautiful sign was hanged on their door. It was a bit too tacky for Hanzo's tastes, but it was a piece of home for Jesse and a physical proof of the warm acceptance Mr McCree and Mrs Jimenez had given Hanzo.  

_ Jesse and Hanzo Welcome You In Their Home _ would now greet every visitor of their flat (and hopefully, one day, a true house).  

 

Hanzo promised himself then and there, he would not let his own father spoil it.


	12. Now: Good Times, Right part. 3

Wasting their time in hotels had started to get old. Hanzo had insisted on buying less eccentric clothes for Masoka and new ones (read, clean and pressed) for Jesse.    
  
Last time Hanzo had renewed his wardrobe, they had argued and made a scene at Madam Malkin, Jesse didn't want to repeat the experience, especially in a No-Maj store so he hastily separated from the Japanese couple, rushing for the gentlemen section of H&M and picked two jeans, a flannel shirt and a few t-shirts.    
  
Masoka had likewise come out of the changing rooms with pants and shirts, all of them showing off her powerful swimmer shoulders, despite her apparent disappointment at having to leave the pink ones behind.    
  
Hanzo paid for everything and this time, his wife was behind the wheel.    
  
She was in fact only a little bit better than Hanzo, without the excuse of having a bad sight since she wore her glasses, whose frames had been changed to a darker plum colour with a reluctant tap of her wand. 

  
  
"Now you see why I was driving" Hanzo said from the back seat, arms crossed and elbows pointing out. ( _Annoyance/I told you so_ ).    
  


"Well, the road to Three Points ain't the best. Haven't changed in thirty years, that's for sure. And I guess we can still have worse if you're willing to..."   
  


"NO!" the Shimadas exclaimed at once.    
  


"You will not crash us into a standing stone, thank you very much." Hanzo added, sounding particularly irate as if it had happened yesterday rather than eighteen years ago.    
  


"Come on, this isn't Stonehenge, the desert's flat and borin’..."   
  


"The GPS is saying there's a small path ahead and I can see a very steep gorge, you're not driving, Mr McCree. I have had nightmares about it _and I wasn't even present_!" Masoka countered calmly.   
  


"You could most certainly find a magical rock for us to crash into.” Hanzo snarled “Since it wasn't even there a second before you crashed us!  _ In my employer’s car! _ "

 

“Well, maybe if we hadn’t been headed to _fucking_ _Stonehenge_ , the day of the _fucking_ Spring Equinox, the day the Ministry has the hardest time to control magical folk and Muggles alike around those _Merlin-Forsaken rocks_ , we wouldn’t have crashed into a stupid menhir!” Jesse started to yell.

 

Hanzo was about to answer in kind when the car made a sharp turn that had both men, who had been facing each other, yelling about old shit that didn’t even matter. (because it was so much easier, especially after that incident in the hotel)

 

Masoka righted the vehicle really fast and continued to drive normally on about a hundred yards until Jesse familiar looking battered plastic cacti holding two wooden signs with fading white letters stretched on it.

 

“If you would please now leave your magical belongings in the truck of the car.” Masoka said, her voice solemn and low. “That includes old grudges.”

 

_ Welcome to the McCree Ranch. _

 

Three wizards shivered as they closed a rental car’s door and watched an unremarkable house in the distance. Stonehenge was so popular among both Muggles and Wizards because it was a very strong node of swirling magical energies. This house, his grandparents house, was the polar opposite. 

  
Readjusting the Stetson on his head, Jesse took a deep breath and walked the unassuming and well cared for sand path leading to the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got writer's block, I wanted to post that when I finished the McCree family gathering, but I hardly started so here, take "so horrible a driver McCree no one wants him driving.


	13. Then: Plans Within Plans part.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't touched that fic in more than a year. I had a huge problem writing it. It was the beginning of a self discovery trip that left me without any clue of what was up or down.  
> So I focused on other things.  
> Today I'm starting to release stuff that was finished. New characters in Overwatch changed some things in my head when it comes to the story.  
> It comes as a combination of JK liking TERF tweets, me being done with it and people in a McHanzo Discord going deep into the HP AU. It made me want to keep on writing. Especially considering the unreleased Hanzo chapter is really relevant to the terfy JK part. Consider my middle finger raised.
> 
> Never follow your heroes on Twitter.
> 
> unbetaed

It was a special occasion. Jesse had invited Zaryanova and her girlfriend for a drink at home. 

 

“Alex and I have been on our first mission with a senior Auror.” Jesse had explained. “It was awesome! There wasn’t much fight, of course, but Potter, well… He’s something. Well, got to be, considering who his grandad is, but still.”

 

Hanzo had not asked for a lot of details about the mission, he had simply taken care of preparing food while Jesse prepared drinks. Teas and coffees and juices, all homemade tonight because Hanzo would not serve factory stuff. He was a better host than that. 

 

Hanzo was also quite excited because he hadn’t spoke to Zhou Mei Ling in ages.

 

They briefly dated in fifth year, something that quickly turned into a very strong friendship Hanzo had been neglecting between Quidditch, N.E.W.T.s (and what happened with that Boggart…) and then Jesse. They had also been close because, out of all the foreigners that had come to Hogwarts to study this year, they were both singled out for their accents during their first year. They helped each other get rid of it and Hanzo in return, decided to learn many other languages, including Chinese and German. In fact, since first year, the little Hufflepuff was probably his only true best friend, what with his Slytherin class all looking out for themselves. 

 

Furthermore, Hanzo had been receiving worrying letters from Japan and Mei Ling’s insight would help. After all, both their countries of birth followed the  _ Maô Dô _ , even if China had made illegal its darkest passages long before their parents were born… 

 

The evening rolled out quite quickly and Zaryanova and Mei Ling soon knocked on the door. Jesse wasted no time in opening to their friends.

 

“This sign is so beautiful!” Mei exclaimed as the Gryffindor proposed to take their cloaks to hang. 

 

“A gift from Jesse’s parents.” Hanzo said with a prideful half smile to his boyfriend who returned it with a wink.  

 

“This is so thoughtful!” Zarya said herself. 

 

Jesse made Zarya her favourite vodka cocktail and for Mei, a minty concoction he called a  _ Blizzard _ . 

 

Then, he poured them Firewhiskey, a good bottle of Ogden’s. Hanzo was a bit disappointed. He liked McCree’s peculiar brand of mixology and would have benefitted from the House Special.

 

“To the resounding success of Aleksandra and Jesse’s first mission!” Hanzo toasted anyway, earning a clink of the glasses and a short warcry from Zarya. 

 

It was a good night, until Zarya and Jesse started to speak of some other work related stuff. Mei chose this occasion to ask Hanzo about his own personal matters: 

 

“You said your father had been writing to you.”

 

“Yes.” Hanzo confessed, the admission coming a bit easier thanks to the magic of alcohol. “He…  _ He is arranging for a young woman to come to Britain to meet me. _ ”

 

It was easier to speak of it in Mandarin. First, because the words came more slowly, since he rarely spoke this tongue and only with Mei. Also, it helped him stay detached in face of an ordeal he wasn’t sure he would come out of unscathed. 

 

“ _ Wow _ ... “ Mei commented, her face seemingly fighting between a compassionate expression and an outraged one. “ _ What are you planning to do _ ?” 

 

“I… Have absolutely no idea.” Hanzo confessed. “He…  _ He even called Genji by his true name in the letter. He…  _ He probably doesn’t want to spook the unicorn.” he added, resorting to the English idiom. 

 

“Well, that is probably mind games.” Mei conceded. “But, you have to meet her and tell her the truth.”

 

“Quite hard when you are forbidden to  _ mention your other tendencies. _ ” Hanzo spat, quoting the Japanese letter, making Mei’s frown turn dangerous, on his behalf he knew.

 

“Mention your what?” Jesse’s voice rang.

 

“Nothing.” Hanzo tried to deflect, quickly taking another sip of his drink. 

 

When had Jesse started to pick up Japanese? He cursed himself. Jesse and Geni spoke way too much to each other...

 

“No, I mean… What were you two talking about?” Jesse asked. 

 

Zarya beside him, seemed somewhat lost and was looking at Mei, as if she could provide the answer with just a wiggle of her button nose. 

 

“I…”

 

After the wonderful Christmas they had spent with his parents, Hanzo had promised himself he wouldn’t hide anymore. 

 

Mei knew. Mei and Zarya were close and so were Jesse and his Auror colleague. He’d learn of it sooner than Hanzo was prepared. The Slytherin took another sip of his drink and said: 

 

“My father is setting me up on a date with a girl from Japan.”

 

“When?” Jesse asked, his jaw set. Hanzo could hear his teeth grinding together. 

 

“What?” Zarya exclaimed, in shock, vodka sloshing as she slammed it on the stool they used as a coffee table. 

 

“It’s a common practice in my country, especially in old wizarding families like mine.” Hanzo evaded. “A formality, really...”

 

“ _ A formality _ ?” Jesse hissed, as if he was inhaling his drink which was conveniently set away next to Zarya’s. 

 

“More like a tradition, in fact. It’s in the  _ Maôdo _ .” Mei corrected, elbowing Hanzo in the ribs.

 

“And a formality because I will meet this girl and send her back with a letter saying this will not work out. A simple  _ formality, _ showing perfect upbringing, courtesy and  _ correctness _ .” Hanzo explained, insisting, through gritted teeth. 

 

“Maybe we should show up together, then. Make the explanation easier for her to understand.” Jesse proposed in a faked good natured manner. Sarcasm did not become his beloved, Hanzo thought. 

 

“Kiss in front of her and make the traditional girl flee in terror.” Zaryanova approved, lifting her fist halfway. 

 

Only Jesse met her for a fist bump, though. He topped up her glass and they toasted, smirking,  _ laughing _ . The sound which usually made Hanzo’s heart swell, now made his blood start to boil in his veins as Mei gasped, loudly.

 

“Oh, Zarya, do you still know that Hair Dye Charm. Never quite knew how to cast it silently.” Jesse continued, finding his joke very funny, but really, Hanzo wanted to slap him. 

 

“Oh yes!” the Russian girl exclaimed. “It only lasts for twenty-four hours, but you can have many more colours than with other permanent spells, it would be perfect to dye anyone’s hair like the Pride Flag.”

 

When Jesse howled with laughter and clapped his hand into the equally merry Hufflepuff’s in another high five, Hanzo’s glass exploded in his hand. 

 

He hadn’t done that since he was seven, but he felt it was either the glass or Jesse’s fat head (or turning Zarya’s pink bangs into snakes, he wasn’t sure…)

 

Jesse turned around to look at Hanzo and the confusion there made the Slytherin sit up and leave the living room. The sound of the door slamming rung deliciously in Hanzo’s ears. So was Mei’s rant he could hear from his spot on the bed: 

 

“You! You are terrible friends! I’m ashamed of your behaviour! Have you even thought about this woman being forced into this as much as Hanzo is? Regardless of her orientation, does she want to meet a guy halfway across the world when she probably has already met someone at her own school? Or her work? Tradition is not just arranged unions. It’s also courtesy and politeness. And it’s certainly not attacking someone you don’t even know, no matter how harmless the spell is!”

 

Hanzo had been brushing his hair when Jesse entered their bedroom. 

 

"Hey, sweetheart." he whispered. 

 

Hanzo didn't move. 

 

"I'm sorry. I mocked your traditions, it was... Well, bad."

 

"Plenty of things can be salvaged from the  _ Maôdo _ ." Hanzo started to say.

 

He didn't really know exactly why, but it was in his chest and he wanted it out. 

 

"For example, the  _ Maôbudo  _ is the Japanese Dueling code. It codifies dueling, with calligraphed charms and they later added wands. The International Federation of Wizard's Dueling heavily inspired themselves from it. For example, the bow. It's a Japanese thing, it was only adopted in Europe in the Seventeenth Century..."

 

Hanzo put the brush back on the dresser and snatched his cloth-of-gold ribbon, making angry twists around his ponytail. 

 

"It also codifies the way one wears their wizard robes in life and in death. From our birth, to our funerals or our weddings. Not just who we’re supposed to marry, but each step of the ceremony, the kind of flowers that are appropriate or not, the colour of the bride and groom's robes... "

 

It had been a wistful dream, one he indulged into on those sleepless nights he spent wondering:  _ what if? _

 

"I thought maybe I'd wear a green robe.” Hanzo continued, his voice quivering like his body refused to. “That's the bride's colour... And it fits Slytherin, right. You'd get to wear the red sash over a black frock since Aurors definitely qualify as warriors, but the red is very Gryffindor. It would fit  _ us _ ! Also, Quaffles are red..." he started to ramble.

 

"Hanzo, honey..."

 

"No, Jesse, I need you to listen to me!" Hanzo pleaded. 

 

The valve had been opened and he didn't have the strength to try and bring it all back up his head and close the door, locking it under key with Occlumency like he usually did. 

 

"I... I wish I could change it, really. I think I actually can live with only parts of it, or at least, make sure it doesn't affect us. However, the  _ Maôdo  _ is my  _ heritage _ . My father and my mother met, married and raised their children within this set of rules. None of us like them, but they are a part of me. We follow them as best we can, Genji and I. That means being polite with the Prospect, showing her around, buying her a butterbeer and kindly tell her the truth so she can go home and find another Prospect for herself.”

 

Jesse was silent. His looked like he was physically in pain, every fibre in his being exuded the shame he felt from thinking it schoolyard a joke.

 

“If she's a proper  _ maijou _ , she would be too polite to even answer more than a "sorry I imposed my unwanted presence"." Hanzo chuckled, mirthlessly. 

 

He imagined a girl his age, nineteen, her back straight as a rod, her lips painted black, her eyes lined with green and her hair properly slicked back, adorned with the very traditional storm petrel feather of the Mahoukotoro graduate, her robes shining like liquid gold.

 

The feather, Hanzo had not earned it himself. However, by virtue of being born a Shimada, she would not simply bow low at the waist. She would be on her knees, forehead to the ground and probably shouting her apology with tear stained cheeks, trembling, fearing for her life. 

 

"Hanzo. It's ok. We won't dye the girl's hair." Jesse said, getting closer, embracing Hanzo who felt the world stabilise. So he  _ had  _ been shaking. 

 

Jesse was warm at his back. He took Hanzo’s hand and he felt a sting in his palm as the Gryffindor’s fingers ran through a small piece of glass. The remains of Hanzo’s drink. Jesse’s fingers glowed a deep red colour and magic made the shard disappear and the little wound, no bigger than a needle’s prick, disappear. 

 

"And... And maybe if you want me in a black dress robe with a red sash…” the American wizard continued. “Well, I wouldn't mind at all. In fact, I'd..."

 

Jesse's voice had become really heavy with implications Hanzo didn't feel exactly ready for, so he turned around and shut him up with his mouth. 

 

First, it let Jesse know that his apology was accepted. Second, Hanzo conveyed how touched he was by the interrupted sentence in the kiss. 

 

_ I love you. I love you. I love you so much, Jesse McCree!  _ Hanzo thought with all his might, suddenly wishing he truly knew how to open his mind to Jesse with more than facts and lessons in Japanese Wizarding society étiquette.

 

And lastly, Hanzo was definitely aroused at the idea of wearing a bride’s colours at his and Jesse's wedding.  _ Their wedding _ . 

 

_ I want to marry  _ you _! _

 

His hand wandered to Jesse's back and went even lower, squeezing his boyfriend's back side with strength and Jesse answered with a hand squeezed between the two of them, ghosting over Hanzo's inner thigh and instantly making Hanzo's desire obvious.. 

 

"Hanzo? Jesse?" they heard with a knock on the door. "Are you quite finished? I wanted to apologise too." Zarya was saying from behind the door.

 

They took deep breaths to calm themselves before opening the door. Zarya felt equally terrible at suggesting they attack an unknown woman who did nothing wrong and praised Hanzo for his attachment to the traditions of his country… But with final parting words explaining her own, unique, point of view. 

 

"In my country,  _ tradition  _ would leave me without an education." she carefully began her explanation. "Because I am Muggleborn, the only reliable magical school there, which is Durmstrang, didn’t send me a letter or a storm petrel or anything. Thanks to the Harry Potter books, we didn't panic when we discovered I was a witch, but my parents were afraid no school in Eastern Europe would want me. There was this world we could only read about and it became real for a moment. A reality I couldn’t even experience at all because of  _ tradition _ . It was crushing… But I had an idea when I read the books again. Petunia Dursley, she had sent a letter to Dumbledore as a girl. I didn’t know who was the current Headmaster then and I didn’t speak English at all, but I wrote a letter to Hogwarts in Russian." she said. "Professor Wilhelm answered. In my own language. They helped me. I was able to come study in Britain. Because tradition in my home country would leave wizards and witches who haven’t a magical parent with no idea of who they are. Anyway, what I wanted to say... It's good that you think of respecting this woman, Hanzo, but this  _ Maôdo _ sounds as restrictive as the blood supremacy bullshit Lord Voldemort preached and my country still practices. It also stands in the path of your happiness... I think you should fight to change it! You and this woman your parents are throwing your way are not alone. It would benefit everyone in your country!"

 

Hanzo let himself be crushed into a bear hug with a promise that he'd take care of himself and wouldn't let his family dictate his life. 

 

This night, after Jesse and Hanzo were finally sexually sated and the Gryffindor fell asleep on Hanzo's chest, snoring softly, the Slytherin thought. 

 

It was less bitter than his usual insomnia. Because he was seeing wisps of plans. It was risky, of course. If his father knew, consequences would be dire. His mother deferred to her husband in all things... They could even threaten to pull Genji out of Hogwarts... 

 

No, it would be best if he waited until the end of the year. Genji would have passed his NEWTs and he'd be able to get a job anywhere in Britain. Europe, even. Hell, he could go to the States!

 

No... The Shimada had an American branch. Hanzo would have to write to him, ask him what he wanted to do... 

 

Knowing his little brother, he would probably want to become a professional Quidditch player, but he was definitely not that good. No, Genji had always excelled in charming people, making friends, convincing them to spill their darkest secrets. He was also a great duelist, but not really academically oriented, so he wouldn't get the grades necessary for Auror Training... But maybe Hit-Wizard? Morrison was his Head of House, after all… 

 

Hanzo looked down, the top of Jesse's head, sleeping peacefully. 

 

"I love you." Hanzo whispered in the dark. 

 

Jesse snored louder and Hanzo wondered if the feeling of the Gryffindor's arms tightening around his waist was real or imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't hurry with this and I only just finished the chapter to get it out of that dusty closet along with my nb ass so do consider this story in hiatus still

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Many thanks to my coworker Don for agreeing to read my self indulging mess of gay stuff and making sure it was still all in actual English. **tips hat to the Texan**
> 
> If you want to know what were the problems, he left three monster anon comments and I love him for that!


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